


A Merry Heart Does Good Like Medicine

by pineapplefan



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Big Brother Dean, Christmas, Crying, Fainting, Gen, Holidays, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Infection, Nausea, Protective Dean, References to Illness, Sick Sam, Stomach Ache, Teenchesters, Upset Sam, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-04
Updated: 2017-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-07 00:40:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 42,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3154349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pineapplefan/pseuds/pineapplefan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was oddly calm once the carolers had moved on to the next room.</p><p>The same kind of calm that Sam always felt on Christmas Eve. Like the world was still for a change. Peaceful.</p><p>He was glad that being holed up in a hospital bed hadn't changed that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Sam pushed the door to the motel room open, using much more strength than he should have needed. He was grateful to get out of the cold winter air. It had been a long day. Heck, it had been a long week. He was exhausted.

Dean was already back from school, camped out on his bed with various snacks from the vending machine surrounding him. He was watching reruns of  _The Three Stooges_ on the out-dated television set. "Hey kid," he acknowledged when Sam stepped in the room.

"Hey," Sam replied unenthusiastically as he dropped his book bag and shrugged off his winter coat. He collapsed face-down onto his own bed, kicking his shoes off to the floor.

"Long day?" Dean asked, snorting softly at his brother's dramatics.

Sam grunted in affirmation. "Think I need a nap," he said, muffling a yawn into the pillow.

"Aren't you a little old for naps, Sammy?"

"Never," Sam responded. "And it's Sam." He rolled over onto his side so he was facing his brother. "Where's Dad?"

Dean, who was suddenly very immersed in the TV, grabbed a piece of paper from the nightstand and tossed it over to Sam. He didn't turn his gaze away from the screen, understandably entertained by the antics of Larry, Curly, and Moe.

Sam blinked a couple of times to focus his eyes so he could read his father's messy scrawl.

_Boys,_

_New lead on the Changeling. Back before dinner._

_Dad_

Sam tossed the note aside and yawned again. He really was exhausted. He'd had two major tests that week - one in math and the other in history - and considering they'd only been in Madison, Wisconsin for three weeks, he hadn't exactly been prepared for the material. That called for a lot of late-night studying… on top of all the training John had put the boys through.

But that was over now. Now it was winter break, and Sam was looking forward to the holidays. John had even promised that they were going to stay put for once, here in Madison, all the way through New Year's. Sam knew better than to hold his breath, though. Even at twelve, he was bright enough to know that John wasn't the best at keeping promises.

"You goin' out with Michelle tonight?" Sam asked his brother sleepily.

"Not tonight," Dean answered with a sigh. "It's her mom's birthday, so she's doing family stuff."

Michelle was the girl Dean had been spending the majority of his time with these days. Sam liked her enough. She was pretty - Dean would settle for nothing less - but most importantly, she made Dean happy.

Naturally, Sam would much rather Dean spend time with  _him,_ but he was glad that his brother had found someone outside of their screwed-to-hell family.

Now that Dean was old enough to hunt, he never seemed to have the time to do normal, teenage-boy things. He was always researching or loading weapons or recovering from a hunt… on top of all the other responsibilities that came with being Dean Winchester. Like keeping on top of school work and looking after his little brother.

Of course, Dean never complained. He was proud to be a Hunter, proud to be a big brother, and proud of his family. But even Dean Winchester deserved a break every once in a while. And Michelle provided that for him.

Even though Sam would have liked nothing better than to take nap, he also didn't want to pass up an increasingly rare opportunity to spend time with Dean. He saw very little of his brother these days.

So he flipped over onto his back, and he and Dean watched  _The Three Stooges_ together.

xxx

Sam woke later to the sound of the motel door being unlocked. He opened one eye sleepily, disoriented. It was dark now. 7:00 pm. He must've fallen asleep after all.

Sam sat up, rubbing a tired hand over his face, just as Dean stepped in the door. He was holding a pizza box in his hands.

"Well, look who's back from the dead," Dean quipped, a smirk on his face. He set the pizza down on the table of the kitchenette. "You hungry?"

Sam shrugged, realizing that he really didn't have much of an appetite. "Where's Dad?" he asked hoarsely.

"Not back yet," Dean answered simply. He opened the box to the pizza and started digging in. Sam cringed when the meat lovers' aroma reached his nostrils.

"Did he call?" Sam asked, kicking off the covers. He swung his legs over the bed.

Dean didn't seem to hear him. He was too busy making yummy noises to his slice of pizza as he chewed.

"Dean," Sam said, rolling his eyes at his brother. "Did Dad call?"

"Hmmm?" Dean said distractedly, his mouth full. "Oh, no, he didn't."

"Do you think he's okay?" Sam wasn't quite able to hide the worry in his voice.

"Of course he's okay, Sam," Dean said confidently. "It's Dad." He nodded at the pizza. "Come eat."

Sam heaved a sigh and lifted his tired bones from the bed. He dragged himself across the room and sat heavily in a kitchen chair.

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. "You all right there, Samantha? You're movin' around like a little ol' granny."

"I'm fine," Sam said. "Just tired from training, I guess." His muscles were achy and sore - something he attributed to the five miles John had made him run yesterday. Not to mention all the pushups he'd done. He'd done so many that he'd lost count.

"You did work hard," Dean agreed. "I better watch out. Before I know it, you'll be keepin' up with me."

Sam smirked. "Keeping up? Pretty soon I'll be  _beating_  your ass."

Dean grinned. "Dream on, Sammy."

xxx

A few hours later, Sam was pulled from sleep again. But this time, it wasn't immediately evident what woke him. Dean was snoring softly next to him, and even though it was dark, Sam could tell that John's bed was still made up. He hadn't come back yet.

It was then that Sam realized he felt very hot under the covers. Overwhelmingly hot. His pajamas were drenched in sweat. He kicked the blankets off his body in an attempt to get cool. Then he pushed himself up into the sitting position, inwardly groaning when his stomach started doing somersaults. He suddenly regretted the two slices of pizza he'd forced himself to eat earlier.

No wonder he'd woken up. He was sick.

Really sick.

Sam swallowed hard. Panic was starting to come over him, the way it always did when his insides were threatening to turn themselves inside out. He threw an arm over his middle, trying to keep his nausea at bay.

"Dean," he gulped out. "Dean, wake up."

His brother stirred beside him, alert even when he was sleeping. "Sam?" He reached an arm out to turn on the nightstand lamp. "What's the matter?" He rubbed a tired hand over his face, blinking as he took in the sight of the sick boy beside him.

"Don't feel good…" Sam mumbled. He leaned back against the headboard, squeezing his eyes shut. The room had started to spin. "M'stomach…"

Dean was on his feet in a flash, hearing the urgency in his brother's voice.

Sam sensed Dean hurry around to his side of the bed and then he felt something heavy being placed in his lap. He opened his eyes to see the motel's metal trash bin in front of him, grateful that Dean could detect when he was about to blow chunks.

"It's all right, Sam," Dean soothed. He positioned himself next to his ailing brother, one arm behind his back, the other pressed against Sam's chest to keep him from pitching forward. Again, Sam was grateful. He felt impossibly weak, but he could always count on Dean to support him, in the most literal sense of the word.

Sam closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable. He hated throwing up. Hated it so much that he always worked himself up, making it a hundred times worse than it needed to be. He could feel himself starting to shake in anticipation.

"Easy, kid." Dean's voice was gentle, knowing very well about his brother's emetophobia. "Just breathe. Breathe through it."

Sam tried to put it off as long as he could, he really did. But before long, he felt bile rising in his esophagus, and he moaned lowly. He hunched over the bin, feeling Dean's grip on him tighten. He vomited twice. Harsh, violent, gags that seemed to come all the way from his toe nails. Tears leaked from his eyes as a result of the exertion.

Beside him, Dean was the picture of calm, pushing Sam's sweaty hair out of his eyes and speaking in soft tones. "You finished?" he asked when Sam had managed to stop gagging. "For now, at least?"

Sam swallowed, considering. "I think so," he croaked, spitting one last time into the bin. He didn't even try to hide the fact that he was crying. He felt utterly miserable; his mouth was coated with bile and a stale after-taste of meat lovers pizza lingered on his breath.

"All right, easy does it," Dean said lightly, taking the bin away from Sam's trembling hands. "You're okay." Dean pressed the back of his hand to Sam's forehead, cursing at the heat radiating off of his brother.

Even though Sam just wanted to stay in bed and hide under the covers from shame and embarrassment, Dean was able to convince him to move into the bathroom. There, they were able to get him cooled off a bit. Dean pulled the sweat-soaked shirt over Sam's head and knelt down in front of him. He wiped him down with a damp cloth.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" Dean asked. He had that same smirk he always wore plastered to his face.

It felt like heaven. "Mmhmm," Sam agreed, eyes drooping and shoulders sagging. "Sorry for getting you up, Dean."

"Don't be stupid, Sam. I was hardly asleep anyway."

Sam bit down on his lip. "You worried about Dad?" he asked, his voice small. Because if Dean was worried, he should be too.

Dean let out a deep breath. "I'm gettin' there," he admitted. "But right now I'm only worried about you." He ruffled Sam's hair and stood up to fetch him a glass of water.  
 _  
_Sam only wished he could be half as good to Dean as Dean was to him.

xxx

"I thought I'd escaped this," Sam moaned into the bin after round two had run its course. It was no secret that a stomach bug had been going around - it was that time of year - and Sam had been very thorough with washing his hands to avoid this very situation. But sometimes even the biggest germaphobes can't hide from gastralgia.

He was sitting on the toilet, pants dropped around his ankles, bin on his lap. Because round two had come with a vengeance, this time adding diarrhea to the mix. And hadn't that been fun?

Dean had stayed with him through the entire ordeal, despite Sam's desperate pleas between gags.  _Go away, Dean. I don_ _'_ _t want you to see. Please, just go._

"Humiliated" was an understatement.

Because vomiting in front of his big brother was one thing, but having distressed bowel movements in front of him was essentially the end of the world.

"Sam, you can barely hold yourself upright," Dean had reasoned. "So why don't you save your breath, because I ain't goin' anywhere."

And as it turned out, Sam was grateful Dean stayed. Because he felt sicker than he'd ever felt, and he needed his rock.

Dean took the bin from Sam's lap and promptly rinsed it out in the sink. "Well, good news, little bro. I think the worst of it is over, don't you?"

"God, I hope so." Sam wasn't sure he'd be able to survive another round of this torture.

Dean knelt down in front of him, and went through the same old routine: hand on his forehead, pushing the sweaty hair out of his eyes, thumbing away the tears on his cheeks… He smiled sadly at his miserable brother. "How's a bath sound?"

Sam grinned. An authentic, genuine, toothy grin. Because sometimes he swore Dean could read his mind. "A bath sounds amazing."

xxx

After helping Sam get settled into the bath, Dean left the room, giving his brother some much needed privacy. Sam had practically no dignity to hold onto after tonight, and so-help-him he was going to bathe himself if it was the last thing he did.

That was, of course, after agreeing to holler to Dean if he needed anything.

Gosh, sitting in that tub felt  _good_. The Winchesters rarely took baths. Showers were their go-to because they were quicker and easier. But Sam realized he'd been missing out, because this bath was glorious.

He sat there for what seemed like ages, letting the warm water soothe his aching body. He only got out when the temperature became tepid and his teeth started to chatter.

He pulled the plug in the drain and then lifted himself from the tub with shaky arms. He still felt weak and dizzy, but he was determined to make it back to bed on his own. He sat down on the lid of the toilet and dried himself off before pulling on the fresh sweats Dean had laid out for him on the counter.

Once dressed, he sat on the toilet a little while longer, trying to get a grip on how he felt. His stomach still ached and he had the beginnings of a headache - probably due to dehydration - but he concluded he felt better than when he'd woken up. And that was a step in the right direction.

When Sam finally emerged from the bathroom, it was nearing 3:00 am. He was looking forward to simply collapsing into his bed and going back to sleep. But something stopped him.

John had returned.

He was sitting at the kitchen table, head in his hands. Dean was standing in front of him, arms folded, posture tense and foreboding.

Sam could smell the whiskey on his dad all the way from across the room.

As if this night couldn't get any worse.

**TBC…**


	2. Chapter 2

John Winchester was not a drunk.

Not usually.

That's not to say he didn't drink. Because he did.

You couldn't be of age, living the life he did, and not nurse a bottle every once in a while.

But this… coming home at three in the morning - smelling like whiskey - after  _promising_  he'd be back before dinner… this was not a typical John Winchester move. And seeing his dad this boozed up was something Dean could have done without. Especially tonight.

Tonight, when his kid brother was sicker than a dog.

Dean could feel anger pumping through his veins and he had to take a few deep breaths to keep from kicking the wooden kitchen chair in front of him. John wasn't late because he ran into some trouble on the hunt. No, John was late because he decided to go on an all-night bender.

"Dad, what the hell were you thinkin'?" Dean asked finally, when he'd calmed down enough to speak. "Did it ever occur to you to pick up the damn phone?"

John dropped his arms so they were sprawled out on the table. "M'sorry," he slurred, hanging his head. And Dean was shocked when a couple of tear drops fell from his eyes and splattered onto the surface.

Dean's heart started to beat rapidly. Because, drunk or not, John Winchester doesn't cry. "What's going on with you?"

John just shook his head, unwilling to give Dean a straight answer. He brought his hands back to his head, hiding his face from his oldest son.

And that just irked Dean even more.

He folded his arms across his chest. "The least you could do is give me an explanation."

But John remained quiet.

Aggravated, Dean walked over to the motel door, hoping to God he wouldn't see the Impala parked out front. He flung the door open, thankful that the '67 Chevy was nowhere in sight. "At least you had enough sense not to drive," he grumbled as he took his position back in front of his father. "How'd you get back?"

"Took'a cab."

"Oh, so you  _can_  talk."

John might've been drunk, but he was with it enough to know when his son was mouthing off, and Dean was suddenly on the receiving end of the infamous "watch it, kid" glare.

Dean brushed it off. He wasn't anywhere close to being finished grilling his father. "Did you gank the Changeling at least?"

No answer.

"Well, did you?!" Dean all but bellowed.

"Yes, I did," John answered finally, struggling to separate his words. "Are you happy now?"

Dean made a noise that was halfway between a snort and sigh. "No, Dad. I'm pretty damn far from happy."

Silence. Hostility.

And then:

"Dean?" Sam's weak voice cut through the tension in the room. And without a second thought, Dean turned his gaze away from his father to focus on Sam.

Sam, who was standing at the doorway of the bathroom, looking pathetic and downright miserable. But at least now he looked  _clean_. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, eyes wide as he took in the sight of his father.

"Sam, you okay?" Dean asked, hastily making his way across the room to where his brother stood. In those brief seconds, Dean forced himself to swallow down the anger he felt towards his father and he replaced it with a calm facade. For Sam's sake.

Dean saw his brother swallow and then nod, but it was clear to Dean that Sam was no longer concerned about his own health. "What's going on with Dad?" he asked, his voice small.

Dean sighed as he steered Sam back to his bed and had him sit down on the edge of the mattress. "That's what I'm trying to figure out," he said, kneeling down in front of his brother so he was eye-level with the kid. "You don't have to worry, okay? I'll handle it."

Sam bobbed his head up and down. "Okay," he whispered.

Dean smiled, glad that after all these years, Sam never hesitated to trust him. "Good." He brushed the damp hair out of Sam's eyes. "How's the stomach?"

Sam swallowed again, his face paling at the question. He lifted a single shoulder up in a shrug. He wouldn't look Dean in the eye.

Dean knew exactly what his brother was up to. "Sam," he warned.

"Not so good," Sam admitted, his voice cracking. He hung his head and sniffed.

"Hey," Dean said lightly, sensing how upset Sam was. "Sammy, look at me."

Sam met his eyes reluctantly, and Dean's heart sank when he saw that Sam's eyes were brimmed with fresh tears.

"I know what you're doin', kid," Dean said. "Don't you dare try to downplay how you're feeling, Sam. Not because of him."

Sam glanced at John - who appeared to have fallen asleep at the table - and then back at Dean. "Okay," he whispered, letting a hand float over his midsection. He let out a shuddering breath that just about broke Dean's heart.

"C'mon," Dean said gently. "Let's get you under the covers."

He eased Sam back into the pillows and pulled the covers up to his waist, but he made sure that Sam remained in the sitting position. He wanted to get him to drink some water before he lay down. Dean held out the water bottle he'd placed on the nightstand while Sam was taking his bath. "Think you can manage some of this?" he asked cautiously.

Sam nodded, and Dean was surprised when he started guzzling the water down quickly. The kid must've been damn dehydrated.

"Whoa, Sam," Dean said, pulling the bottle away when Sam had drunk nearly half of it. "That's enough. You're going to make yourself sick again."

"Sorry," Sam breathed guiltily.

Dean smiled sadly at him and reached up to feel his forehead. "I think your fever's gone down some," he murmured, inwardly breathing a sigh of relief. He hadn't liked how hot Sam had been running earlier. "You ready to go back to sleep?"

Sam could only nod, his eyes already starting to droop.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," Dean said fondly. He helped his brother scoot down and then pulled the covers up to his chin. "Listen kid, I'm going to help Dad to bed, and then I'll come to bed too, okay? Sam, you wake me if you feel worse, you hear me? The trash can is on the floor right next to you, but if you need help getting to the bathroom or something, you just wake me up. And if you—"

"Okay," Sam interrupted, his cheeks turning a hint of red. The older Sam got, the less he liked being fussed over. But Dean knew Sam appreciated him being there for him. Especially when he whispered a genuine, "Thanks, Dean."

Dean grinned and pushed Sam's bangs out of his eyes one last time. "Get some sleep, barf boy." He patted Sam gently on the stomach and then he stood up, wishing with all his might that he didn't have a drunk father to deal with.

xxx

Wrestling a reluctant, drunk John Winchester into bed is no easy task, Dean learned. His father seemed perfectly content with sleeping at the kitchen table, and in hindsight, Dean probably should've just left him there.

But he worried about his father's bad back and how if he slept in that wooden chair he'd be stiffer than a rail come morning. And as angry as Dean was at his father's recklessness, he just couldn't leave him at that table.

So he woke him up and was forced to half-carry half-drag his rock solid father to bed.

And now Dean was the one with the sore back.

Dean received no explanation. He received no apology. He received no thanks.

xxx

By the time the eldest Winchester son finally crawled in bed, he was spent - emotionally and physically.

He didn't know what was going on with his dad - his  _hero_  - and that scared him. And that fear, mixed with his worry and his anger and his disappointment was enough to make Dean feel like he was drowning.

Not to mention the fact that he had a little brother to worry about.

It wasn't until a tear slipped down his cheek that Dean realized he was crying. And without thinking, he reached out and pulled his brother close to him. Because Sam needed to feel safe. Sam needed to feel protected. Sam needed Dean.

Or maybe, just maybe, Dean needed something to cling onto.

The one constant in his life.

Sam.

**TBC** **…**


	3. Chapter 3

Sam inwardly groaned as the digital clock turned from 4:59 to 5:00 am.

He had been lying on his side, awake, for nearly forty minutes now, just staring at the clock as the minutes continued to tick by. All he wanted was to fall back asleep.

Because he  _had_ been sleeping soundly, with Dean's arm draped around him, pulled in close to his brother's warm body.

But now he felt like he was suffocating under the weight of Dean's arm. He was hot and fidgety and miserable. Not to mention his stomach was giving him trouble again. All sorts of trouble.

So he'd been lying there, just willing the discomfort in his gut to go away.

It was no use.

The pressure continued to build, the nausea continued to grow, and Sam wasn't going to be able to ignore it much longer.

Swallowing thickly, he carefully wiggled out from beneath Dean's arm. He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and braced his hands on his knees. He breathed deeply through his nose, trying to quell the light-headed feeling that had come over him.

It wasn't working.

Head spinning, Sam pushed himself off the bed and started his trek to the bathroom. He was near certain he was going to be sick, from one end or the other, and he really didn't want to wake Dean if he could help it.

He did his best to follow the beam from the nightlight, but he was so dizzy that walking proved to be a challenge. Halfway there, he stumbled over his own feet, and fell heavily to the floor, too weak to catch himself. He hit the ground with a thud, landing awkwardly on his right hip and elbow.

A light flipped on almost immediately, followed by a panicked "Sam?"

And all Sam could do was moan in response. So much for not waking Dean.

He was by Sam's side in an instant, helping him sit up. "Damnit, Sam, I told you to wake me," Dean growled, in a way that - to an outsider - would have sounded like he was upset with Sam. But Sam knew better. "You hurt?"

"I-I don't know," Sam answered shakily. He was really worked up now, sobs wracking in his chest. And he was starting to panic again, because the discomfort in his gut was becoming a more pressing matter.

Gosh, he felt so sick that he couldn't even speak. Thank God Dean could read his brother's facial cues, because somehow, Sam was able to communicate that he needed the bathroom - and he needed it now - without uttering a single word.

Dean didn't hesitate. In seconds, Sam went from lying on the floor to being scooped up in his big brother's arms. Dean carried him the rest of the way.

Upon entering the bathroom, Dean promptly sat Sam down on the toilet. Sam kept his eyes closed; the room was spinning too much and his lids were too heavy to keep them open. But he could sense Dean in front of him, kneeling, pulling Sam's head into chest to hold him steady while he used both hands to pull Sam's sweats down.

"It's okay, Sammy. I gotcha," Dean soothed, as Sam's body started to release his bowels.

Sam groaned into Dean's chest, fisting the hem of his brother's shirt, as liquid continued to rush out of him. He was feeling weaker by the second.

There were moments of brief solace, where everything stopped, and Sam was able to try and catch his breath. But then it would start up again, making him wonder if this night from hell would ever end.

Luckily, his body only seemed to be revolting from the south end at the present time. But Sam's stomach still ached and he couldn't help but whimper as his efforts brought little relief. "Dean…" he whined. He was beyond the point of caring how pathetic he sounded.

"I know, kid," Dean said softly. "I know. I wish I could make this better." Sam knew his brother would switch places with him if he could.

Vaguely, Sam could feel Dean rubbing soft circles in his back, and he did his best to focus on that instead of his revolting stomach. It was no use. His elbow and hip ached from falling, but that was the least of his worries. His nausea was building dangerously, and eventually he couldn't keep it at bay any longer.

He started to gag.

"Whoa, Sam. Hold on just a sec," Dean said frantically, scrambling to grab the plastic trash bin under the sink. He made sure to keep a hand on Sam's shoulder to prevent him from pitching off the toilet.

Dean had good reflexes, but he wasn't quite able to make it on time. Luckily, Sam's stomach didn't have much left in it, so he only vomited strings of bile. Regardless, that bile dribbled down his front, leaving him feeling more embarrassed and more uncomfortable than ever.

"Oh, Sammy," Dean sighed.

"M'sorry," Sam mumbled, blinking away tears. He was sorry for a lot: mostly for being such a trouble to Dean.

"Not your fault, kid," Dean assured, composing himself. He placed the bin on Sam's lap in case he needed it again.

But, much to Sam's relief, things were starting to slow down. Throwing up had made him feel a lot better; he wasn't nauseated anymore and the room wasn't spinning as much. In addition, his bowels felt drained and Sam didn't think his south end had much, if any, left to expel.

He sat there a moment longer though, just to make sure. Dean was watching him carefully. "I'm okay," Sam whispered finally, when nothing more happened.

Dean managed a forced laugh. "You're anything but okay, Sam." He pushed Sam's hair out of his eyes. "You think you're finished?"

Sam nodded, confident that he was. He handed the bin back to Dean, eager to get off the toilet. His bottom was sore from sitting there so long.

Dean set the bin down and helped Sam out of his soiled sweatshirt. "I'm betting another bath sounds pretty appealing, doesn't it?"

Actually, Sam would have been perfectly content with crawling back into bed and just dying, but he reeked and was sweating all over, and he knew Dean would never let that happen. Especially since they were sharing a bed.

So he nodded, and waited patiently while Dean started the water.

While waiting for the water to fill the tub, Dean grabbed a glass off the counter and filled it with water. "Here, kiddo," he said.

Sam took the water gratefully, using it mostly to rinse his mouth. "Thanks, Dean," he whispered. He handed the glass back. He didn't swallow much, for fear of throwing up again. "I'm sorry you had to deal with this."

Dean shook his head, dismissing Sam's unnecessary apology. "I'm just sorry you're sick," was all Dean said in reply. And for a second, Sam thought he saw tears in his older brother's eyes.

As Dean was helping ease Sam into the tub, a question occurred to the youngest Winchester. "How come  _you_ never get this sick?" he asked, realizing - with quite a bit of jealousy - just how much better off Dean's immune system was than his.

Dean grinned.

"Because, Sam. I'm Batman."


	4. Chapter 4

Dean always felt helpless when Sam was sick.

It wasn't a quick fix.

It wasn't a predicament he could smooth-talk his way out of. It wasn't some bully his muscles could scare off. He couldn't drop some advice or tell a simple joke to make this better.

No, when Sam was sick, all Dean could do was stand-by, while whatever was ailing his brother ran its course.

This stomach bug was really kicking Sam's ass too. Dean's normally tough and strong-for-his-size brother was like putty as he allowed Dean to wipe him down with a washcloth. Sam hadn't even bothered to cover himself up - he was too weak. He just lay in the tub, eyes closed, fully exposed.

"Dean," Sam croaked. "Don't look, okay?"

Dean swallowed back a lump in his throat. "I won't, Sammy, I promise."

Dean's palm cushioned Sam's head against the tile, while he used his other hand to scrub down his fragile body. He kept his eyes trained on Sam's face, making good on his promise. If Sam didn't want him to look, he wouldn't look. Even if he had seen it all before. Dean had been Sam's primary diaper-changer, after all.

"You doin' okay, Squirt?" Dean asked, after a few moments of silence.

"Yeah," Sam whispered, opening his eyes to look at Dean. "Are you?"

Dean wasn't surprised by Sam's question. It was a typical Sam Winchester move: showing concern for Dean when it was obvious he was the one who deserved all the attention. It was one of the many reasons Dean was willing to give up everything for the kid.

"Yeah, Sam, I'm good," came the answer, even though it was complete bullshit. Dean was never okay when Sam was sick. "I'm not the one spewing my guts out," he reminded his brother.

"I know," Sam whispered, his eyes closing again. "I was just checking."

And Dean's heart broke into a million pieces.

xxx

_"_ _Dean, are you in love with Michelle?_ _"_

That had been the question Sam asked a couple of days ago over dinner.

Dean had laughed lightly, explaining to Sam that it was too soon to tell. But he did like her a whole lot.

Maybe it was because he was sixteen and young and his hormones were raging, but Dean was pretty sure Michelle was the coolest girl he'd ever met.

For one, she was beautiful. Wavy blonde hair that hung down beyond her shoulder blades, deep blue eyes accentuated by long lashes, high cheek bones, dazzling smile… the list went on and on.

But it was more than that. She was down-to-earth, sweet as pie, witty, and fun. She and Dean could banter back and forth for an eternity, it seemed. When Dean was with her, it felt natural. Simple.

She was also well-traveled. Her parents were rather unconventional - they lived out of a mobile home, traveling the country while also making sure their daughter got the education and high school experience they thought she deserved. When Dean told Michelle that the longest he'd ever stayed in one spot was three months, he was surprised to find they had that in common.

It was different with Michelle than with previous girls.

They both had the same intentions. They both went into the relationship knowing it wouldn't -  _couldn_ _'_ _t_  - be long-term. Normally it was only Dean who had that knowledge.

This time, it was a two-way street.

Something clicked between them. And maybe that was why they'd been spending every possible moment with each other.

Dean had even asked her to the school  _dance_. Bought the tickets and everything. The winter formal. "Frozen in Time," they were calling it.

Because the plan was to stay in Madison through the holidays, so why the hell not?

Before Michelle, Dean would have scoffed at the idea of a dance. The words  _lame_  and  _ordinary_  and  _cliche_ would have rolled off his tongue in a heartbeat. With Michelle, the idea of a dance brought different words to mind: exciting, new,  _fun_.

Dean hadn't told Sam or John about the dance yet.

But he was looking forward to it more than he would ever dare to admit.

xxx

When Sam finished with his bath, Dean pulled him out of the tub and immediately wrapped him in a towel. Sam was shivering and his teeth were chattering and he was very unsteady on his feet. Dean had him sit down on the toilet seat while he helped him into yet another set of fresh clothes.

It was during all of this that Dean realized how little of Sam he'd seen lately.

Michelle had been taking over all of his time without Dean being cognizant of it. Until now.

Dean swallowed hard as the realization hit. He usually made it a priority to be there for Sam; to make this moving from town to town seem a little better for the kid. Because Sam wasn't the best at making friends. He was shy and smarter than most kids his age and he was skinny as a rail. He met all the criteria for being some wise-ass punk's punching bag. It didn't help that he was  _always_  fresh meat.

Dean didn't mind it as much - the moving around. It was easier for him because he was always accepted by his peers. He had the charming good looks, the charisma, the too-cool-for-school attitude.

Dean felt a pang of guilt as he realized Sam had mostly been on his own during their time in Madison. Sure, they occasionally ate dinner together and they trained and sparred together… but that was really the extent of it. Dean just hoped Sam didn't resent him for his absence of late. Especially since John hadn't been around much either - he'd been obsessed with ganking the damn Changeling the entire time.

"Ready to get some more sleep, Sam?" Dean asked once his brother was dried and clothed.

Sam nodded vaguely, eyes drooping.

"Your stomach still intact?"

Another nod.

"Think you can manage some water?"

Sam looked at Dean through his mop of damp hair. "I'm not sure," he answered, his voice shaking slightly. "I-I don't want to be sick again."

Dean didn't want that either, but he also didn't want the kid to get dehydrated.

"Just half a glass," Dean compromised, standing up to fill the cup at the sink. "Okay?"

"Okay," Sam whispered.

Under Dean's watchful eye, Sam carefully drank the water, sip by sip.

"Good, Sammy, you're doin' great, kiddo," Dean coached. He hated how Sam's face was contorted with fresh waves of nausea as he struggled to keep the water down. Dean had the trash bin ready, but he prayed it wouldn't come to that. The kid had been through enough torture tonight.

When the glass had finally been drained, Sam handed the cup back to Dean, smiling slightly at his victory.

"Knew you could do it," Dean congratulated.

"Yeah, it's the little things," Sam deadpanned.

Dean snorted softly. "C'mon. Let's get you back to bed."

xxx

Dean went back to bed, but he didn't go back asleep. He dozed at best.

Sam had been tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable again, until Dean sat up and started rubbing his back. He just wanted the kid to sleep.

He felt Sam's muscles ease under his hand. "That's it, Sammy," he whispered. "Just relax."

Dean didn't stop rubbing Sam's back, even after he was sure he was asleep. Dean listened to the soft snores from his father in the bed next to him and the light breathing of his sick little brother.

And he felt oddly at peace.

xxx

It was 8:30 when Dean woke from his doze.

He opened a bleary eye to his father shaking his shoulder lightly. "What?" he grunted.

"You're gonna hurt your neck, sleeping like that," John whispered.

Dean blinked. He was still sitting up in bed, back against the headboard, neck lolled to one side. He straightened up, wiping the back of his hand across his eyes. "What's goin' on?" he asked, glad to see that his father had sobered up.

"We need to talk," John said gruffly.

Dean nodded. Yes they did. "Okay," he said softly, glancing at Sam who was still sleeping soundly. "But not here."

John was already one step ahead. He dropped Dean's jacket into his lap. "C'mon."

Carefully, Dean got out of bed being careful not to wake Sam. Then he slipped on his boots and followed John out the motel door, drawing in a deep breath as the cold December air hit his face. He shrugged on his jacket, watching as John paced in front of him.

"All right, so talk," Dean said, folding his arms across his chest.

John stopped pacing to face Dean. He let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Okay, for starters, I'm sorry about last night, Dean. Really, I am."

"Mmhmm," Dean hummed, because he'd been expecting that. The trouble was, empty apologies from John were starting to get a little old. "You can say you're sorry all you want, Dad. But you still have some explaining to do. You were hunting a Changeling for cryin' out loud. I thought you… you could've—"

"I know," John interrupted, hanging his head. "I know."

"You know, Dad, you always tell Sammy and me that we need to be responsible. Look out for one another. But we're not the ones I'm worried about. You're the one who's irresponsible and and needs a damn babysitter."

Dean was glaring at his father now. The anger from last night had returned, and it was building in his veins.

And there were tears in his father's eyes again, but Dean wasn't about to feel bad for making him cry. He deserved it. He deserved every last bit of it.

"So let me hear it, Dad," he pressed on. "Give me an explanation."

There was a moment of dead silence between them, and Dean suddenly realized he didn't want to hear what his father had to say. There was absolutely no reason for coming home as drunk as he had. There was no reason for worrying his kids sick so he could go on a bender. Dean couldn't think of a single thing his father could say to make him forgive him.

"Lou is dead."

Except for maybe that.

**TBC...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lou will be explained in the coming chapters. He's an OC, but will play a very minor role in the story because, well, he's dead. Poor Lou. Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

"Sammy?" Dean's voice drifted into Sam's conscious, and he felt a cold hand pressed against his forehead. "Can you wake up for me, kiddo?"

Sam didn't want to open his eyes, though. His eyelids were heavy and his body ached and he knew that opening his eyes would mean he had to face the day.

Sam couldn't help the moan that escaped through his lips as Dean started running hid hands through his hair. It felt so good. "Come on, Sam," Dean coaxed gently.

And because Sam would do anything for Dean, he gave in. He opened his eyes slowly, groaning as the light seared into his skull.

"Mornin', Princess," Dean said.

Sam blinked as Dean's face came into focus. He was hovering over Sam, a hint of a smirk on his lips. "Mornin'," Sam responded hoarsely. He pushed himself into the the sitting position, hating how much energy he needed to complete such a simple task.

"How're you feelin'?" Dean asked.

Sam swallowed. "Tired," he answered honestly, wiping the sleep from his eyes with the back of his hand. "What's goin' on?" He looked around the room, realizing that everything had been packed up. "Where's all our stuff? Where's Dad?"

"Whoa, one question at a time," Dean said, holding his hands up in mock surrender. "I feel like I'm being interrogated here."

Sam clamped his mouth shut, waiting patiently for answers.

"Dad's outside packing up the Impala," Dean told him. "We - uh - we have to leave, Sammy."

"Right now?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, real soon. I'm sorry, dude. I let you sleep as long as I could."

"But why do we have to leave? We're supposed to be staying here through the holidays! Dad  _promised_." Sam should've known better than to believe a word that came out of his father's mouth.

"I know, Sam," Dean said calmly, though his voice wavered slightly. "Something came up."

Sam tilted his head, trying to read Dean's face. His eyes were brimmed with unshed tears. "What? What's going on?"

Dean let out a deep breath. "You know Dad's cousin? Lou?"

Sam nodded, eyebrows furrowing as he waited for Dean to get to the point.

"He was killed last night."

xxx

After the passing of Mary, John Winchester ended all of his relationships. It was the best way to keep them safe. He fell off the radar - lost contact with all previous friends and family. He burned every bridge.

Except for one.

He still kept in touch with Lou.

The most Sam knew about Cousin Lou came from stories his dad would tell, about when he was a kid.

John and Lou grew up together. They lived in the same town, just outside of Normal, Illinois.

John was two years older and he had always been fiercely protective of Lou. Lou's parents weren't always around; they were in the business industry, and they traveled a lot. Many times, Lou would stay at John's place for up to weeks at a time.

As a result, the pair grew very close. John showed him the ropes, watched out for him, hell - he'd do anything for the guy. When John spoke of Lou, he talked with a sense of admiration and pride.

The same way Dean did of Sam.

When John returned from the Vietnam War, he was not surprised to find that Lou had started a family. He'd gone off to school at Kansas University where he met a lovely girl named Janine. Shortly after graduating, he'd moved to Lawrence for good, got hitched, and already had twins on the way.

Since nothing was keeping John in Normal, he moved to Lawrence to be closer to Lou. There, he fell in madly in love with a blonde looker named Mary… and the rest is history.

Six years and two beautiful sons later, Mary was killed, and the apple-pie life John had become accustomed to was pulled out from under his feet. John learned what was really out there - how much  _evil_  there was in the world - and his ex-marine nature had him reeling for revenge and justice.

Lou begged him not to go after Mary's killer. He tried to reason with John, reminding him he still had two young boys to look after and raise. But John couldn't just surrender like that. It wasn't in him. He was already in too deep.

So Lou let him go.

And John hasn't seem him since.

But he calls. Calling is safer than meeting in person, when every evil sonuvabitch has its eye on you and the people you love.

Every holiday. Every birthday. Every time John wanted to hear the man's voice, he'd call. And they'd talk and they'd laugh and John would almost turn into a different man - the man he used to be.

If only for a while.

xxx

"So we're going back to Lawrence?" Sam whispered, once the news set in. His heart ached for his father - no wonder he'd returned last night smelling like a brewery.

But Dean shook his head. "Dad's going back," he said softly. "We're not. He's taking us to Bobby's first."

"Why aren't we going with him?" Sam didn't want to be apart from his father. For one, it was the holidays. And two, Sam knew how much Lou had meant to John and he was afraid his emotions might get the better of him. "He shouldn't go alone."

Dean sighed. "Sam, Lou didn't just pass away in his sleep or something; he was  _killed_. Dad says there've been a lot of killings in Lawrence lately. Brutal killings."

Sam's eyes widened. "He thinks something supernatural is going on?"

"Yeah," Dean said hoarsely. He let out a wavering breath. "He thinks maybe… he thinks it might even have something to do with…"

"With what killed Mom?" Sam finished softly.

Dean nodded.

"Well then he  _really_ shouldn't be going back there alone!" Sam exclaimed, in spite of himself.

"He won't be alone, Sam," Dean assured. "There are already plenty of hunters in Lawrence looking into the killings."

"But—"

"No buts, Sam," Dean interrupted firmly, his voice taking a rare form of superiority over his brother. "It's too dangerous. Dad gave us an order and we're going to stay with Bobby like he said."

Sam swallowed hard. "Okay," he relented, but he didn't like it.

"Good," Dean said, satisfied. Then he softened his voice. "Now c'mon, kiddo. You need to hit the head and get dressed. Dad's about ready to go."

xxx

"You doin' okay, Sam?" John asked from across the table, looking up from his journal to study his son's gray face.

They were sitting at a diner, just outside of Madison.

John and Dean were hungry and had decided to stop for some grub. Sam, on the other hand, still didn't even want to  _think_  about food. The smells from brunch being cooked up were enough to get his stomach rolling again.

"Yessir," Sam lied, a hand hovering over his midsection. His stomach still felt uneasy, but he didn't want his father to be worried about him when heaven knows he had enough on his mind.

"You gonna get anything to eat?" Dean asked, nudging Sam with his elbow. "Some toast, maybe?"

Sam swallowed. "Yeah, okay," he said unsurely. He supposed toast was harmless enough.

Once the waitress had taken their orders, John went right back to studying his journal. As they sat in silence, Sam started having trouble keeping his head up. It took a lot of willpower not to nod off to sleep.

Dean, of course, noticed. He hooked an arm around Sam and pulled him close. "Go head a close your eyes, Sammy. I'll wake you up when the food comes."

And that was all the persuading Sam needed. He drifted off into oblivion, feeling the soft vibration of of Dean's voice as he and John exchanged theories about what was going on in Lawrence.


	6. Chapter 6

Dean gazed out the window at the Minnesota scenery whipping past. It was snowing lightly outside, the ground turning to speckled patches of white.

He'd opted for the backseat with Sam instead of taking shotgun like he did so often these days. Sam was still feeling lousy, that much Dean could tell, and he wasn't about to leave his side. Dean hoped the weather wouldn't slow them down. He didn't want Sam in the car any longer than he had to be.

The kid was fast asleep, his head resting in Dean's lap. He was still small enough that he could lay completely stretched out in the backseat of the Impala - something Dean hadn't been able to do for ages now.

Dean ran a gentle hand through Sam's mop of hair, not pleased with how warm he still was. Dean felt so badly for him. It was bad enough being sick to your stomach, but being sick to your stomach and having to ride in a car for seven hours? Dean couldn't imagine.

He just hoped Sam would stay asleep for the majority of the car ride. But if and when he woke up, Dean was prepared.

He had his dad to thank for that.

That morning, when John had taken a cab to go pick up the Impala from the bar, he'd made a few stops on the way back. He'd picked up some ginger ale and bottled water and saltines and liquid tylenol and even a brand new thermometer to replace the one that had shattered a while back. All of that was sitting in a bag at Dean's feet.

The car was silent. John's eyes were fixated on the road, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. No music was coming from the cassette player. The only sound heard was the purr from the Impala as it sped over the asphalt at maximum speed.

Dean would catch his dad glancing into the rearview mirror to make sure Sam was still sleeping. Dean had to give him credit - the man had gone above and beyond to make Sam comfortable despite dealing with grief of unsurmountable measure. That's why Sam was wrapped snuggly with a brand new fleece blanket. That's why a plush pillow lay in Dean's lap for Sam to rest his head on.

"Dean, how's he doin'?" John's quiet voice floated through the quiet car.

"Still asleep," Dean answered softly. "Hasn't moved a muscle."

He met his father's eyes in the reflection of the rearview mirror. "You should try and get some sleep too, son," the older hunter said. "I know you didn't get much shut-eye last night."

"Yessir."

Dean leaned his cheek against the cool window and closed his eyes to humor his father, but he wasn't very optimistic about getting any sleep. He was incredibly restless and he knew oblivion wouldn't come easily.

Maybe it was because they'd left Madison, and Dean knew he was really going to miss that place. He'd liked it there. He'd liked the city and the people and especially the cheese. But most of all he'd liked Michelle.

She was perfect and lovely and they'd up and left without Dean getting the chance to say goodbye.

That's what Dean did. He went from town to town, breaking hearts. Only this time, his heart was a little broken too.

But that was the kind of sacrifice he had to make for his family. And normally he didn't think twice about it . He knew that was how it went. His dad was a superhero, after all. Life didn't stop for superheroes.

And now, his hero was going back to Lawrence.

Lawrence, where Mary was killed and their house had burned down and their lives had changed forever. Lawrence, the place Dean had promised himself he'd never go back to. The place that scared him the most.

Maybe that was the cause of his anxiousness.

It didn't help that he was holding a sick little brother in his arms.

xxx

Despite everything on his mind, Dean was able to drift in and out of sleep for an hour or so.

But he was pulled from his doze a while later to the sound of his dad grumbling to himself. "A little snow and everybody forgets how to drive. Great, just great."

Dean wiped a lazy hand across his face and opened his eyes. The Impala's high speed had been reduced to a slow crawl. Snow was falling heavily from the sky and sticking to the road. A lot could change in one hour.

"Looks like we drove ourselves into a storm," John said quietly, noticing Dean was awake.

"Looks like," Dean agreed.

Sam stirred when Dean spoke and pushed against him to sit up. "Are we there?" he asked hoarsely, rubbing his eyes with his hand.

"No, kiddo, we're only about halfway," Dean told him. "We hit some snow."

"And some traffic," John added. "How're you doin' back there, Sam?"

Dean saw his brother swallow as he considered the question. "I'm okay," he answered, but Dean wasn't convinced. Sam was shivering something awful despite being bundled up in the fleece blanket. And the pallor of his skin still resembled that of a zombie.

"Dean, check his temp," John instructed, probably noticing how off-color Sam was.

"Yessir." Dean reached down into the bag at his feet. He opened the packaging to the new thermometer before handing it over to Sam. "You heard the man."

Sam obediently stuck the thermometer under his tongue. He leaned his cheek against Dean's shoulder and closed his eyes while they waited the required three minutes.

"It looks like… 102.7," Dean reported, giving his best reading of the thermometer when the time was up. He nudged Sam gently in the ribs. "Okay my ass."

Sam smiled meekly and shrugged.

"Think you can handle some Tylenol?" Dean asked, hoping to bring the kid's fever down. "Dad picked some up for you."

"It's the liquid stuff, Sam," John told him. "So it should go down pretty easily."

Sam swallowed. "I-I don't know…" he said softly, unconsciously wrapping his arms around his middle.

Dean licked his lips. "You still feelin' queasy?" he asked, even though he already knew the answer. The look on Sam's face was clue enough. "The toast isn't sittin' too good, huh?"

Sam shook his head, looking down at his hands in shame.

"Dean, he needs to try the Tylenol," John said with authority, making firm eye contact with Dean in the mirror. "That fever's too high."

Sam glanced back up at Dean pleadingly.

Dean sighed. "I'm sorry, Squirt. But I'm with Dad on this one."

He hated forcing Sam to do something he didn't want to do, but John was right. If his fever climbed any higher, Sam would just feel worse. They had to try. Dean reached down into the bag and pulled out the medicine. He also grabbed a can of ginger ale.

"Here's what's gonna happen," Dean said. "You're gonna take this" - he held up the Tylenol - "and then you're gonna chase it with a few sips of this" - he held up ginger ale. "Ginger ale's real good at settling your stomach." He smiled reassuringly at his brother. "Okay?"

Sam didn't look particularly thrilled, but he nodded.

At Sam's consent, Dean measured out the correct dosage and handed the small cup to his brother. "Bottom's up," he said.

Sam reluctantly brought the cup to his mouth and hesitated before downing it in one swig.

"That's it, Sammy," Dean praised, taking the cup from him and replacing it with the can of opened ginger ale. "Just a few sips, kid."

Sam nodded vaguely, bringing the can up to his mouth with a trembling hand. He managed three tentative sips before handing it back to Dean, shaking his head. "It's not gonna stay down," he said weakly, a hint of panic in his voice. He gripped the edge of his seat tightly, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to breathe through the nausea he was experiencing. "Dean, I think I'm gonna throw up."

"Okay, okay," Dean said as calmly as he could manage. "Dad?"

"Dean, I'm not able to pull over with all this traffic," John said, a frustrated edge in his voice. "Give Sam the bag from the store. He can use that."

"Yessir," Dean said, promptly dumping the water bottles and remaining ginger ale out of the bag. "Here you go, Sammy. It's okay." He helped Sam lean over the bag, rubbing the kid's back while he tried to fight the impending revolt.

John remained quiet, his jaw set. He kept his eyes trained on the road, not daring to look back at Sam.

Sam didn't have much in his stomach, so when he finally gave in to the nausea and vomited into the plastic bag, it was quick and meager before his body resorted to dry heaves. Tears leaked from Sam's eyes as he tried to regain control.

When he had, he was left panting and crying and miserable. "M'sorry," he mumbled, turning his head into Dean's chest.

"Shut up, Sam," Dean said firmly, hating that the kid was apologizing for something he couldn't control. He also hated that the kid was crying. Sam in distress was Dean's worst nightmare.

Dean hooked an arm around his brother in an attempt to calm him down.

But Sam wasn't calming down. Dean could feel tears seeping through his shirt as he continued to cry. With how high his fever was, and his revolting stomach, and being cooped up in the car… Dean couldn't help but understand the anguish his brother was feeling. He wished with all his might that he could switch places with him.

"Dad, he's pretty worked up," Dean said. "I think—"

"We'll stop at the next exit," John interrupted, his voice clipped. Dean knew a sick kid was the last thing his dad wanted to deal with right now. At least he wasn't telling Sam to man up or something completely insensitive. He was notorious for pulling macho crap like that.

Even if Sam hadn't been so worked up, Dean figured it was a good time to take a break anyway. They could use the restrooms and the two with healthy stomachs could grab something to eat. Maybe the traffic and snow would be cleared up by the time they hit the road again.

As Dean held Sam close to him, he prayed an exit would turn up soon.


	7. Chapter 7

"Sam, you need any help?" Dean's voice carried through the stall door.

Sam was sitting on the lid of toilet of the fast-food joint, more for the sake of privacy than anything else. He'd hoped Dean hadn't followed him. Sam let out an audible sigh. "No, I'm fine."

"All right," Dean said, but he didn't sound too sure. "Just holler if you need—"

"I said I'm fine, Dean!" Sam snapped.

There was a lingering silence and then heavy footsteps faded away, followed by a gentle close of the bathroom door.

Sam wrapped his arms around his middle, hoping some pressure would alleviate some of the discomfort there.

He hadn't meant to sound so harsh towards Dean, but he really felt like he needed some time to himself. For one, he was embarrassed about the spectacle in the car. It was bad enough getting sick in front of his father, but crying in front of him? Sam wished he could hide out in this grimy bathroom stall forever.

He didn't know what had come over him. He had settled down now, but before he just couldn't stop crying. And that horrified him, because he was way too old for that shit.

He was just so tired. Tired of being sick and tired of the Winchester bad luck.

All he had wanted was  _one_ normal Christmas. One Christmas that didn't suck out loud.

He should've known better.

Sam couldn't blame his father. He understood why they had to leave Madison. This time, it wasn't his father's fault.

In fact, Sam's heart was broken for his father. His dad was a closed book, but even Sam knew that Lou's death was tearing him apart on the inside. Showing up plastered the night before was clue enough.

And of course, to make things worse, Sam was sick to top it all off. Like his dad needed any more grief. And Dean too… Sam knew he was upset about leaving Madison. Upset about leaving Michelle.

Sam sighed heavily, leaning forward to put his elbows on his knees. Being the youngest, and admittedly, the more reluctant son to his family's lifestyle, Sam often times felt like he was a burden. But he was pretty sure this time took the cake.

He sat on the toilet seat a moment longer, letting the stillness and silence sink in.

Then, he figured, since he was in the bathroom stall anyway, he might as well relieve himself. He pulled his pants down around his ankles and went about his business, opting to remain sitting down because standing up was less then appealing.

xxx

Sam emerged from the bathroom several moments later, after he'd splashed some cool water on his face and marveled at his unsalvageable hideousness from being ill in the mirror.

He spotted Dean immediately, surprised to find him on the pay phone that was located in the same hallway as the restrooms. Dean seemed to be in a deep conversation with the person on the other line.

Sam approached him carefully, head fuzzy from the fever he was running. Who could he be talking to?

"No, ma'am, I haven't seen her since school yesterday," Dean was saying, and Sam noticed a slight shake in his voice. "That's why I was calling. I didn't get a chance to—"

Dean trailed off, listening intently to what was being said on the other end.

"She didn't?"

Dean swallowed hard, glancing at Sam out of the corner of his eye. Sam opened his mouth to ask what was going on, but Dean raised a finger to silence him.

"Yes, ma'am." Another pause. "I will. Okay. Bye."

Dean ended the conversation and brought the receiver into his chest. He was white as a ghost, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Dean, what is it?" Sam asked timidly. It didn't take a detective to figure out that something was wrong.

Dean hung up the phone with a shaky hand. He bowed his head and pinched the bridge of his nose before answering.

"Michelle is missing."

xxx

"She's been missing since when?" John inquired. Dean had filled him in on what was going on back in Madison.

They were back on the road now. Traffic had thinned out and the snow had let up some, so they were  _almost_  back up to maximum speed.

"Yesterday after school," Dean answered, gazing out the window. "She told me it was her mom's birthday and she would be doin' family stuff. But she told her parents she was going to be with me." Dean sighed. "It wasn't even her mom's birthday yesterday."

"Sounds like Michelle had this disappearing act planned then," John said.

Dean didn't seem comforted by that.

"Hey, that's a good thing," John insisted, meeting Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. "That means she probably wasn't taken. That means she's probably okay."

Dean nodded vaguely. "Yeah," he agreed hoarsely.

Sam frowned as Dean leaned his head against the cool glass of the window. He looked so disheartened.

"I know you wish you could be back in Madison, son," John said. "If we had left for any reason other than Lou…" He broke off and cleared his throat gruffly before continuing. "I promise you, we'd be on our way back there right now."

"I know, Dad," Dean said softly, letting his eyes close. "It's okay."

John's gaze lingered on his oldest a moment longer before he reached up to move the mirror so he could focus his attention on his youngest son. "You look tired, Sam," he said, giving the kid a once-over. "You should try to sleep."

Sam nodded. He  _was_ tired, and sleep was calling out to him.

He leaned his head against the opposite window, not wanting to bother Dean. He pulled the fleece over his body, trying to get comfortable.

"Sam…" Dean's voice interrupted his efforts.

He lifted his head to find Dean reaching out to him.

"C'mere, you moron," he said, grasping Sam's arm and pulling him towards him. "You'll be more comfortable if you're horizontal." He set the pillow back in his lap and helped Sam lie down. He shifted the blanket so it was laying over Sam's form completely.

Sam felt instantly warm. Not from the heat blasting up front, nor from the blanket or plush pillow, but from the heat of his brother's body. It was the soft words and the soothing hand, rubbing his chest, that pushed Sam over the edge and into oblivion.

"Get some sleep, runt. We'll be at Bobby's before you know it."


	8. Chapter 8

Dread.

Overwhelming anxiety and unease.

That's what he was experiencing.

Learning about Michelle's disappearance was just too much for Dean. His brain was going into overdrive, desperately trying to come up with some logical explanation. Some explanation that didn't warrant the silent freak-out he was currently having.

He kept coming up empty.

Michelle was missing, her family was worried sick, and there wasn't a damn thing Dean could do about it.

 _Sounds like Michelle had this disappearing act planned then_. John's words echoed in his head.

But that couldn't be. Michelle wouldn't just up and leave her family without a trace.

Would she?

Dean tried to think back to the last time he'd seen Michelle. It was an eternity ago, it seemed, but really it was only yesterday afternoon.

_They were eating lunch at the table in the back corner of the cafeteria, just like they always did. Michelle was twirling her hair, leaning in close, while Dean fed her a french fry. She laughed and then popped a grape in his mouth._

" _We_ _'_ _re such saps,_ _"_ _Michelle said as she chewed._

_Dean snorted._ _"_ _Right. This coming from the same girl who challenges me to burping contests._ _"_ _He rolled his eyes._ _"_ _We_ _'_ _re anything but saps._ _"_

" _All right, fine. We_ _'_ _re periodic saps._ _"_

_Dean raised his eyebrows._ _"_ _Periodic saps,_ _"_ _he repeated with a grin._ _"_ _I can live with that._ _"_

Dean smiled at the memory. Everything had seemed normal with Michelle. She'd apologized about having to spend the evening with her mom… had told Dean that she couldn't wait to see him tomorrow. And it was  _genuine_.

So why did she lie about it being her mom's birthday?

_Why?_

He was going to drive himself mad if he didn't stop fretting over something he didn't have any control over.

But he couldn't help it. Where was she? Was she scared? Was she in danger?

Those were the thoughts racing through Dean's brain, the entire remainder of the drive.

xxx

When Bobby's place came into view, Dean let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding in. The Singer Salvage Yard had always been the closest thing he had to a home and, no matter what burdens Dean was carrying, it always felt good to pull up the gravel drive.

John put the Impala in park in front of the steps leading up to Bobby's humble abode.

"Sammy, we're here," Dean said, giving his brother a gentle shake. The kid had slept the remainder of the way.

"Hmm?" Sam mumbled, eyes opening into reluctant slits.

"We're at Bobby's. Sit up."

Sam obeyed, pushing against the seat with wobbly arms until he was upright.

"Dean, I'll grab the bags from the trunk," John said as he kicked open the car door. "You help Sam inside."

"Yessir." Dean glanced over at his brother. It was dark, so he could only make out the silhouette of Sam's form. His shoulders were sagged and his hands were gripping the edge of the seat tightly. "You okay, Sam?"

Sam bobbed his head up and down.

"You sure?"

Sam sighed. "Dean, I'm fine. I just…" he trailed off, his gaze following John up to the front door where he was greeted by Bobby.

"What, Sam?" Dean prompted.

"I'm just worried about you."

"About  _me_?" Dean questioned. "Dude, how do you even have enough strength to be worried about anyone but yourself?" Sam was a fevered, vomiting, exhausted mess. Dean was the poster of health and sanity compared to him.

He had to be.

He did his best to flash Sam his trademark smirk. "Besides, I'm all good."

"Dean, drop the act," Sam said, voice void of any energy. "I can see right through you. You're not okay."

"Sam—"

"I know how much you cared about Michelle," Sam continued as if Dean hadn't spoken. "And you're worried about Dad. I know that too."

Dean swallowed hard, trying to ignore the hunk of ice in his gut.  _I_ _'_ _m also a little worried about you, kiddo._

"So just… don't pretend like everything's 'all good,'" Sam said softly, turning his head toward his brother. "It's okay for you to let your guard down down some. I can handle it. I'm not a little kid anymore."

"Could've fooled me," Dean quipped, trying to make light out of this chick-flick moment Sam had thrust upon them.

"Dean, I'm serious."

"All right, I hear you, Samantha," Dean said, raising his hands in mock surrender. "Now, are you finally ready to go inside? Because I'm sort of freezing my ass off here." He kicked open the door to the Impala and hopped out, the cold winter air stinging his face.

"Jerk," Sam mumbled as he scooted across the seat to exit the car behind Dean.

Dean bent down to grab the ginger ale and saltines, smiling slightly at Sam's initiation of their trademark exchange. "Make yourself useful and carry these," he said, holding the box of saltines out to Sam. "Bitch."

xxx

Bobby and John had an interesting relationship because Bobby respected him as a man and a hunter, but he was never too pleased with the majority of the choices John made when it came to his children. He was never big on the whole "raising kids to be hunters" lifestyle. And he'd get upset when John would leave Sam and Dean under his watch for weeks at a time.  _They need a father_ , Bobby would say.  _I_ _'_ _m not what they need._

But the truth was, Bobby  _was_ what Sam and Dean needed.

And vice versa.

Dean could always see beyond Bobby's ornery comments and crotchety behavior. The man loved the kids deeply and he would do anything for them. His eyes lit up whenever they stepped foot in the door.

So even though John and Bobby weren't always on the best of terms, Sam and Dean were always welcome in his home.

And it said a lot about the man John thought Bobby was, because he didn't leave his kids with just anybody.

John trusted the man to his very core.

xxx

Bobby insisted that John stay for dinner.

He seemed more compassionate and understanding this go-around, because he knew about the loss John was enduring.

Dinner was quiet.

Sam wasn't up for trying real food yet, so instead, he was nibbling on some saltines and sipping at some water.

The rest were picking at a leftover pot roast. Dean forced himself to eat everything on his plate, but it took him a while. He didn't have much of an appetite.

None of them did.

"I should get going," John said gruffly when everyone was done eating. He slid his chair back and stood up. Bobby stood up with him.

Dean stood too, stomach sinking at the fact that his father was leaving. To go back to  _Lawrence_ of all places.

John made his way around the table to squeeze Sam's shoulders. "You feel better, Sam," he said gently. "And that's an order."

"I'll try," Sam breathed, a sad smile creeping onto his lips. "Be careful, Dad."

John bent forward to kiss the top Sam's head. "I will be."

Then John hooked an arm around Dean, pulling him in for a crooked hug. "You take good care of your brother." He pecked the top of Dean's head with a quick kiss, then ruffled his hair as he pushed away.

Dean was speechless.

There was no mistaking the glistening tears in John's eyes as he smiled warmly at his sons. "I'll call as often as I can," he promised. "And I'll try my damnedest to be back by Christmas."

Bobby cleared his throat. "I'll see your father off," he said, nudging John towards the door. "You boys make yourselves at home. See if anything good's on TV."

Sam obeyed and went into the TV room to do some channel surfing. Dean went to the front door and watched from the sidelight window as John and Bobby exchanged words over the top of the Impala.

Dean even cracked the front door open a bit so he could hear what they were saying.

"…was going to come through for them this year." That was John, regret and remorse heavy in his voice. "And Sam is sick and Dean… that girl that's missing…"

"For the love of Pete, will you stop feelin' your feelings?" Bobby asked. "Your boys are tough, John. That's the way you raised 'em. They know this is what you gotta do. Lou meant the world to you. Hell, even I'm on board with this one."

When John didn't say anything, Bobby continued.

"Now, quit worryin' about your boys, and focus on keepin' yourself safe. Worryin' won't do them one bit of good if you wind up dead."

Bobby was never one to sugarcoat.

John heaved a sigh. "You're right," he said, tapping the roof of the Impala. "Thanks, Singer. I owe you one."

" _One?_ " Bobby repeated, good-naturedly. "I think your debt's a little more than that, Winchester."

"A shitload more," John agreed. He cleared his throat gruffly. "I'll - uh - I'll be in touch."

"Darn-tootin' you will. Now hit the road, Jack."

"Aye, Cpt'n."

With that, John opened the driver's door and slipped in, honking twice before driving away.

Dean retreated into the TV room, settling in next to Sam on the couch. He didn't want Bobby to know he'd been eavesdropping.

When Bobby entered the room, the boys couldn't help but chuckle at the comment that flew out of the older man's mouth.

"Cold as  _balls_  out there. Friggin' South Dakota…"


	9. Chapter 9

Sam and Dean were sitting on the couch, side by side.

Sam let Dean take over the remote because he hadn't found anything worth watching on Bobby's old television set. It seemed like every channel was on a commercial break. Plus, he was feeling nauseated again and was doing everything in his power to keep down the little food he'd consumed at dinner.

Dean finally struck gold and settled on a college basketball game. Minnesota vs. Nebraska. The game had just started.

"The wind is really picking up out there," Bobby commented as he returned to the TV room from the kitchen. He was holding a large mixing bowl in his hands. He set it down on the end table between the couch and his armchair. "That's for you, Sam, in case you need it."

Sam nodded his thanks, eyeing the bowl wearily.

"Basketball fan, huh?" Bobby asked Dean as he sank into his armchair.

"I like it enough," Dean answered with a shrug. "Sam's the real basketball fan of the family."

"No kiddin'?" Bobby asked, and Dean nudged Sam in the ribs in an attempt to get him to elaborate.

But Sam merely nodded. He really did love basketball, and if he hadn't been resisting the urge to gag, he would have told Bobby that.

He was mostly interested in Jayhawks games - John tried to keep up with KU's team because they had lived in Lawrence for good chunk of time and it was also Cousin Lou's alma mater. John would have a game on every now and then when they were winding down for the night.

Sam loved those moments because watching basketball was what  _normal_  people did. What normal  _families_ did.

And he loved the thrill of the game. Fans got so into it. It fascinated Sam that people could get so hyped about something so trivial, how they could come together over something of such little value in the real world.

It must be nice, he thought, to care about something  _fun_. To invest time into something for  _pleasure_. Sam wished he knew what that felt like. He'd always wanted to go to a game so he could experience the raw energy in person.

"Cat got your tongue?" Dean asked his brother, studying his face carefully. "Normally he'll talk your ear off about basketball," Dean explained to Bobby. "Still not feelin' good, huh, Sammy?"

Sam shook his head, swallowing hard.

"Yer daddy said you've been hit with quite the bug," Bobby commented.

Dean snorted. "That's putting it lightly. I still can't wrap my head around the sheer amount of liquid this squirt has spewed in the last 24 hours."

"Dean!" Sam groaned, horrified by his brother's description of his gastrointestinal revolt.

Dean smirked as he reached over to palm Sam's forehead. "You don't feel as warm as before," he murmured. "Maybe you're finally on the mend."

Sam could hear the hope in Dean's voice, and gosh, he wanted to believe that was true. But his stomach hurt so badly. It wasn't just discomfort anymore; now it was closer to pain. Sam managed to give his brother a half-hearted smile. "Yeah," he breathed, leaning his head against Dean's shoulder. "Maybe."

xxx

Sam was not on the mend.

That much was clear.

By halftime, he'd lost his dinner into the bowl Bobby had fetched and now he was curled into himself, desperately trying to quell the pain in his gut.

Dean was next to him, rubbing his back.

"You gotta reel this in, Sammy," Dean whispered. "I don't like seein' you like this."

"M'sorry," Sam breathed. "I just— I really don't feel good, Dean."

"I know, dude. Doesn't take a detective to see that." He brushed Sam's hair out of his eyes. "What can I do?"

"You don't have to do anything. I'll be okay." Sam truly hated when people fretted over him. Besides, this was just the stomach flu. An every-human occurrence. Surely he could handle something as pedestrian as  _that_. But glory to hell, he'd never felt so sick in his life.

Bobby had gone upstairs to set the boys up in the guest bedroom, and Sam was grateful. He was exhausted and he hoped lying down would help his stomach feel better. Now it was just a matter of getting up the stairs…

xxx

"Here, son." Sam reluctantly opened an eye to see Bobby sitting on the foot of the bed, dangling the thermometer in front of him. "We need to see how hot you're runnin'."

Sam couldn't help the sigh that escaped his lips. He was so tired from climbing Bobby's steep staircase, and now he just wanted to sleep. But he opened his mouth anyway and let Bobby slide the thermometer underneath his tongue.

"D'n?" Sam asked, noticing his brother wasn't in the room.

"He's making a phone call," Bobby answered. "Seeing if there are any leads on his little girlfriend's whereabouts."

Sam's heart tightened. He'd almost forgotten about Michelle.

Since Sam couldn't talk with the thermometer in his mouth, he and Bobby sat in silence until enough time had passed.

Bobby removed the thermometer just as Dean walked back into the room.

"Any news?" Bobby asked.

Dean just shook his head and let out a shuddering breath. "Temp?" he asked, nodding at Sam.

Bobby held the thermometer up to the light. "101.8," he answered.

"It's gone down some," Dean commented to nobody in particular. "Think you can handle some water, Sam?"

Sam felt his stomach tighten at just the suggestion. "I don't think so," he answered weakly.

Bobby sighed. "Well, you better hope you can hold some liquids down tomorrow, kid. Otherwise we'll be takin' your scrawny ass to the hospital. Get you an IV."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Especially if you can't shake that fever."

Sam wanted to protest, because he wasn't a big fan of hospitals. Who in their right mind  _would_ be? But he saw the determined looks on both of Dean and Bobby's faces, and he knew it wouldn't do any good to argue.

"How long has this been going on?" Bobby inquired.

"He started ralphin' last night," Dean answered. "But he's been worn out all week."

"Well, hopefully a good night's sleep will do some good," Bobby said, patting Sam's leg as he stood up. "You hittin' the hay now too, Dean?"

Dean nodded. "Might as well."

"All right. You boys wake me up if you need anything, you hear?"

"Sure, Bobby. Thanks."

Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder on his way out, closing the door softly behind him.

Dean hovered by the door for a while, seemingly lost in thought. Sam knew he was miles away - worrying about about John and especially Michelle.

"Get in bed, Dean," Sam said softly. "You look beat."

Dean nodded vaguely as he went to sit down on the twin bed across from Sam. The bowl Sam had used earlier had been cleaned out and placed on the nightstand in between them.

Dean began his 'big-brother' speech as he got under his covers. "Sam, you wake me up if—"

"Yeah, Dean, I know the drill," Sam interrupted.

"You say that, and yet you still wound up in a heap on the hotel floor last night," Dean reminded him in his no-nonsense voice.

Sam's hip and elbow throbbed at the reminder. "Touché," he said with a yawn. Exhaustion was starting to pull him under…

In a haze, he saw Dean flash him a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Get some sleep, bitch."

Sam let his eyes close.

"You too…"

The "jerk" was lost on his lips.


	10. Chapter 10

Dean knew going into it that it would be near impossible to get any sleep that night. As he lay there, staring up at the ceiling and listening to Sam breathe, he wondered why he bothered to get in bed at all.

There was so much buzzing around in his mind that he couldn't focus on just one thing. But he was anxious; his body alone told him that much. His heart was thumping in his chest and his palms were sweaty, and damn, he hated being this worked up over stuff that was beyond his control.

He wanted to sleep. He was so tired and he would've given  _anything_  to drift off into oblivion. He tried turning the clock away so he wouldn't see the minutes ticking by. He tried to relax from head to to toe, breathing deeply through his nose. He even tried counting sheep.

Nothing worked.

Eventually he gave up. Sam was sleeping soundly, so he figured it would be okay to slip out of the room. He needed to do something; he couldn't stand just lying there.

He quietly made his way downstairs. He wasn't sure what time it was, but Bobby's bedroom door was closed so he assumed the older man was asleep.

Dean found himself in the kitchen. There were some dishes from dinner that had been left in the sink. Dean remembered Bobby had commented that he'd clean up during halftime of the Minnesota game. But then Sam got ill again and the dishes were forgotten.

Something for Dean to do.

He didn't just stop at the dishes. He grabbed a damp cloth and wiped down the table, the counters, even the cabinets. He was in the middle of scrubbing down the stove when he heard Bobby's voice behind him.

"What in the world are you doin', boy?"

Dean dropped the cloth and turned around, scratching his head nervously. "Uh, cleaning?" he answered lamely.

"At 2:00 in the morning?"

Dean just shrugged.

Bobby quirked an eyebrow. "Christo," he muttered under his breath.

Dean sighed. "I'm not possessed, Bobby. I just couldn't sleep."

"So you decided to embrace your inner Alice." Bobby chuckled. "I woulda thought house-elves visited overnight if I hadn't caught you in the act."

Dean smiled and dropped his hand. "I, uh, I didn't me to wake you."

"No trouble, kid," Bobby assured, leaning forward against the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "Lot on your mind, huh?"

"You could say that."

Bobby nodded and pulled the chair out from the table. "Sit down, Dean," he said, patting the back of the chair. "You and I are gonna have ourselves a little talk."

Dean frowned as he obeyed and sunk into the chair.

"I know, I know, talking's unheard of in the world of the Winchesters," Bobby said. He walked over to his alcohol cabinet and pulled out a few items. "But it's not so bad. You'll see."

Dean watched as the Bobby poured two glasses of scotch, mildly surprised when he slid one of the glasses over to him. Dean raised his eyebrows as Bobby settled into the seat across from him.

"Go on, kid." Bobby nodded at the drink. "You're wound up tighter than a three-day clock. That'll help take the edge off."

Dean slowly brought the glass up to his mouth. He'd had beer before, but he'd never tried hard liquor. He took a tentative sip, grimacing at the corky, leathery flavor that hit his tongue.

Bobby smirked as he took a swig of his own. "Sam sleeping soundly?" he asked.

Dean nodded. "Like a log. He hasn't been sick like this in a while."

"It's a shame it had to happen so close to Christmas."

Dean shrugged. "He's probably used to it. I don't think the kid's had a decent Christmas his entire life." He let out a heavy sigh. "I was hopin' to change that this year."

"Well, there's still time for Sam to bounce back before Christmas. I bet he's back to his old self by then."

Dean nodded vaguely. "I just hope Dad makes it back in time."

"He said he'll try to be here."

"Yeah, well, he says that every year." Dean took another swig of his scotch, swallowing hard as the liquor burned his throat on the way down. "I get why he had to leave this time. It just sucks, you know? And I wish he wasn't back in Lawrence. Alone."

"He's not alone, son. There are a ton of hunters down there. They'll tag-team." Bobby studied Dean's face. "I'm surprised you didn't insist on going with him."

Dean shrugged again. "Dad said it was too dangerous. He gave us an order to stay with you. I didn't question it. I have no desire to go back there anyway."

Bobby nodded his understanding.

"Besides, Sammy's sick and I didn't want to leave him. I haven't seen much of the kid lately."

Bobby smirked. "Because you were spending all your time with your little lady friend," he said knowingly.

Dean hung his head. "Yeah."

"Nothing wrong with that, Dean. You're sixteen. You're  _supposed_  to be spending time with girls."

But Dean shook his head. "I shouldn't have gotten so attached," he said. "Dad always warned me about that. Hell, I don't even know if what we had was real. She lied to me, Bobby. I just…" - he let out a deep breath - "I don't know what to think anymore."

"But you're still worried about her." It wasn't a question.

Dean nodded, feeling his eyes start to prick with tears. "I want her to be okay. I want answers."

"I wish I could give them to you, kid. I really do. But you, being raised in a life like this, should know better than anybody; there aren't always answers." Bobby smiled sadly. "Sometimes you just have to hold on to what you  _do_ know. Have faith in everything else."

Dean sniffed and nodded.

Bobby grinned. "And when all else fails, that's what scotch is for." He held his glass up proudly before taking a swig.

That got a laugh out of Dean.

"See?" Bobby prompted. "Talking ain't so bad, is it?"

"Didn't solve anything," Dean pointed out.

"No," Bobby agreed. "But now you don't have to carry your burdens by yourself, Dean. You let me in, and now I can carry some of the weight."

Dean drained his glass and swallowed. He supposed Bobby was right. It felt good being able to confide in someone about his concerns. Even if he didn't get any answers. In fact, Dean felt like he might even be able to get some shut-eye. The scotch felt warm in his belly and drowsiness was starting to sweep over him.

Bobby smiled and reached across the table to pat Dean's hand. "Now go on and get your hind parts back upstairs, Dean. Get some sleep. I promise you, everything will seem better in the morning."

Dean returned the smile and stood up. "Thanks, Bobby," he said, meeting the man's eyes. "Really."

"Ah, don't mention it, kid. You cleaned my entire kitchen. I had to return the favor somehow."

xxx

Dean returned to the guest bedroom, slipping in the door quietly, not wanting to disturb Sam.

But Sam was awake.

He was sitting in the dark, on the edge of the bed, with his feet on the floor. He had the bowl in his lap and was hunched over it.

"Sammy?" Dean flipped on the light, his stomach sinking. "Geez, kid. Not again." He immediately went to sit next to his ailing brother, wrapping an arm around the kid's shoulders as he started to heave. He was shivering something awful.

Sam didn't have much left in him to bring up, but that didn't stop his stomach from trying. He remained hovering over the bowl for a solid ten minutes, nauseated and miserable, until things finally calmed down. When they had, Sam slumped against Dean, completely drained.

"You okay?" Dean asked, setting the bowl aside, giving Sam a tight squeeze.

Sam shook his head. "Where'd you go?" he asked weakly.

"I couldn't sleep so I went downstairs," Dean answered, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry Sammy, I should've stayed in here with you." Dean pushed Sam's hair out of his eyes. "Want to rinse your mouth out?"

Sam nodded, so Dean reached for the cup on the nightstand and brought it to Sam's lips. The kid was too tired to do it on his own.

Dehydration was rapidly becoming a more pressing matter, so Dean was relieved when Sam was able to drink the majority of the water without ralphing it back up right away.

He helped get Sam settled back under the covers and then he went to rinse out the bowl. When he returned, Sam was already fast asleep, but Dean could still see him trembling under the covers.

Not even thinking about it, Dean turned out the light and then slipped into bed with his brother, neglecting his own bed. He pulled Sam in close and didn't allow himself to give into sleep until the kid stopped shivering.

When Sam finally stilled, Dean closed his eyes, Bobby's voice echoing in his head.  _Everything will seem better in the morning._

He sure hoped so.


	11. Chapter 11

Sam doesn't remember much of it.

Just bits and pieces.

One moment he was opening his eyes to the morning sun seeping through the blinds; the next, he was gasping for breath as blinding pain seared through his gut.

He must've called out because suddenly Dean was there, beside him. Or maybe he'd been there all along. That wasn't important. What  _was_ important was that Dean was moving him, helping him sit up, and Sam couldn't help the scream that escaped his lips. It  _hurt_ , and he had to fold over at the waist so his abdomen was pressed against his thighs to get even the slightest relief.

Vaguely, he could hear Dean's voice, asking him what was wrong, and when Sam couldn't give an answer, Dean began shouting for Bobby.

Rough but gentle hands were lifting Sam's chin up.  _Sammy, look at me. Open your eyes._

Sam obeyed and opened his lids into slits. Dean was in front of him, kneeling, the image of his face swimming dizzily before Sam's eyes. Bobby was there too. Hovering behind Dean.

_He'_ _s in pain, Bobby._

Sam reached an arm out to keep from falling forward, vertigo getting the best of him. He clutched the fabric of Dean's T-shirt into a fist. He was moaning, wrapping his stomach with his free arm.

_Shh, Sam. It_ _'_ _s okay. You_ _'_ _re okay._

Dean's voice sounded like he was underwater.

Sam closed his eyes again. He was too dizzy and he didn't like being the cause of the concern on the faces of the men in front of him.

Sam wished the pain in his stomach would cease or that he would lose consciousness. Because this in-between shit was less than pleasant.

He could feel Dean running his hand through his hair while he and Bobby exchanged words. He only caught fractions of the conversation - too preoccupied with the stabbing sensation in his gut. Strangely, he only latched on to the words Dean spoke.

_He_ _'_ _s burning up._

_Can_ _'_ _t be his appendix. He had it out when he was eight._

_I don_ _'_ _t think we can move him, Bobby. He_ _'_ _s in too much pain._

The bed dipped and then a hand started rubbing his back. Sam could feel the warmth from his brother's body and he straightened up to bury his face in Dean's chest, not caring how badly it hurt to shift his weight. He needed to be as close to Dean as possible.

_It_ _'_ _s okay, Sammy. You_ _'_ _re gonna be okay. An ambulance is on it_ _'_ _s way. Just hold on, kid._

Time seemed to slow down then. Dean on one side of him, Bobby on the other, just waiting. The pain wasn't letting up, and Sam was  _scared_. Dean was too. Sam could feel his heart thumping rapidly as he held Sam close to his chest.

At one point, Dean was moving Sam again, this time to lean over the bowl that Bobby was holding in front of him. Sam was confused at first. He hadn't known he was going to throw up. Nausea was the least of his worries in comparison to the pain.

Luckily, Dean was a mind-reader. Or at least, he could pick up on the signs that Sam was about to vomit. Because Sam  _did_ vomit, and it was all thanks to Dean that it made it into a proper receptacle instead of all over himself.

His gut clenched and twisted as he heaved and gosh, he just wanted to die. He let out a noise that sounded an awful lot like a whimper which turned quickly into a gasp when he opened his eyes.

He was vomiting blood.

With a hitched breath, he turned his face back into Dean's chest, scared and shaking and  _when would this stop?_

Dean just held him tighter after that, rocking him back and forth. Vaguely, Sam could hear someone crying, which he thought was strange. Because Bobby had taken the bowl to rinse it out and Dean was murmuring soft, unwavering reassurances in his ear.

Sam still felt like his stomach was being carved up on the inside. He swallowed back the copper taste in his mouth and tried to focus on Dean's voice.

He doesn't remember the specifics of the paramedics getting there, nor the drive to the hospital. All he remembers is Dean holding onto his hand, telling him with fierce confidence that everything would be okay.

Sam wasn't so sure he believed him this time.

xxx

The next time Sam opened his eyes, it was to figures in white coats and colorful clothing hovering above him. Sam squinted. It was bright in this room.  _Too_  bright.

Where was he? And why did he feel so funny?

His body was numb and his brain wasn't working right. Everything seemed foggy and when Sam tried to sit up, he couldn't.

What was going on?

He started to panic.

Where was Dean? Why wasn't he here? He tried to form Dean's name with his lips, but he couldn't make a sound. There was something covering his nose and mouth, and Sam wanted it  _off_. But he couldn't move.

"Doctor, I think he's waking up."

Someone, wearing a surgical mask, leaned over him. The figure fidgeted with some tubes that Sam was hooked up to.

Suddenly, the air he was breathing had a peculiar taste. He couldn't put his finger on it though. He was too preoccupied with the people standing above him, holding funny metal tools and wearing masks.

And what was that beeping sound?

He desperately tried to keep his eyes open, trying to make sense out of what he'd woken up to. He wasn't very trusting of these people. Especially since Dean wasn't there.

But he was so  _tired_ all of a sudden, and he could feel his eyes closing against his will. The panic was still there, but he couldn't do a single thing about it. He heard a woman with a kind voice say, "Go back to sleep, sweetie."

Sam had no choice but to listen.

The drugs took him back under.


	12. Chapter 12

Dean was sitting in the waiting area of the emergency room, staring blankly as commotion continued to go on around him. Sam had skipped triage, and had immediately gone to be examined.

Dean felt like a zombie. Trapped in time. None of this seemed real.

He couldn't get the image of Sam out of his mind. He had looked utterly terrified right before the medical professionals had taken him away on the gurney. He was so  _sick_. Dean tried not to think of that ambulance ride, where Sam had soiled himself, had slipped in and out of consciousness more times that Dean could count, had called out for his brother in that voice that Dean couldn't stand - the voice that wanted,  _needed_ , Dean to fix him. But Dean couldn't fix him.  _He couldn_ _'_ _t._

The hardest part was that Dean didn't know what was wrong. He didn't have the slightest clue. All he knew was that his brother was in pain.  _Agony_.

Dean leaned forward to brace his hands on his bouncing knees. He was overwhelmingly anxious, running on nothing but adrenaline.

After they'd taken Sam, Bobby had gone… somewhere. He told Dean where he was going, and Dean had nodded. Because that's what you do when someone is speaking to you. But Dean hadn't actually comprehended what the older man said.

Luckily, the mystery of Bobby's absence was brief. He returned to Dean quickly, holding a styrofoam cup of water. He also had a clipboard tucked under his arm.

"Gotcha this on my way back," Bobby said as he approached the seating area. He sat down beside Dean and held the cup out to him.

"Thanks," Dean said, grateful for the drink. His mouth felt full of sand. He drained the cup greedily. "Where'd you go again?"

Bobby smirked. "I knew you weren't listenin'." He nodded toward the pay phones. "I paged yer daddy. Left him the number he could reach us at. Told the receptionist we're expecting a call."

"Oh." Dean nodded. "Good." He was thankful Bobby was there to think of such things; things he was too rattled to come up with.

Bobby patted Dean's knee and then set the clipboard on his lap. He pulled out a pen that had been tucked behind his ear. He began filling out the required forms, which Dean figured was best. His hands were too shaky to write much of anything.

"What alias are you boys using these days?"

"Warner's the surname on our insurance card," Dean answered.

"You have the card on you?"

Dean nodded and shifted in his seat so he could reach the back pocket of his jeans. He pulled his wallet out and opened it with the flick of his wrist. He handed the fake insurance card to Bobby, eyes pausing on something he'd forgotten about entirely. The two tickets he'd gotten for the winter formal back in Madison were poking out of his billfold.

Dean made an involuntary noise in the back of his throat and quickly tried to cover it up with a cough.

Bobby glanced in Dean's direction. "What do you got there?" he asked, trying to get a better look at the tickets. But Dean flipped his wallet closed and shoved it in his jacket pocket before he could.

"It's nothing," Dean mumbled.

Bobby raised his eyebrows, gaze lingering on Dean a moment longer. But he chose not to push it. He continued to fill out the forms.

Dean sat silently, eyes closed and numb all over.

xxx

"I'd like to ask you a few questions. We weren't able to get all the information from Sam before we sent him for x-rays and an ultrasound. He wasn't very coherent."

Dean and Bobby were sitting in Exam Room 3. Sam's doctor had fetched them and brought them into a room, away from the commotion of the waiting area.

Bobby squeezed Dean's shoulder. "What do you need to know?" he asked Dr. Preston.

"I'd like a timeline," the young doctor said. "When did Sam's symptoms start?"

"Friday night," Dean answered.

Dr. Preston scribbled something down on his clipboard. "Vomiting and diarrhea, correct?" he asked.

Dean nodded. "The works."

"Fever?"

"It fluctuates, but yes," Bobby answered. "He's had a fever ranging from low-grade to 102 since Friday."

"The EMTs measured him at 103.3 on the ride over here this morning," the doctor told them. "But rest assured, we're working on bringing it down. We've also put him on some pain meds so he would be still during imaging. He's got the good stuff."

Glad that Sam's pain was being addressed, Dean relaxed a bit.

The doctor continued to ask questions. When did the pain start? Did the diarrhea ever cease? When was the last time Sam had a bowel movement? Any blood in his stool or emesis?

Dean answered to the best of his ability. He felt out of his element, speaking about Sam's condition. It was embarrassing talking about gastrointestinal issues, even if they weren't his own. But he was willing to do anything to get Sam better.

Once the doctor had finished his inquiry, he told Dean and Bobby that they could remain in the room. Sam would be back in there after imaging while the medical professionals discussed the next course of action.

Dean let out a heavy breath once the doctor had exited the room. He ran his hands through his hair and watched the door intently. He just wanted Sam with him. He just wanted to hold his brother's hand.

He just wanted everything to be okay.

xxx

Minutes later, Sam was wheeled into Exam Room 3 on a gurney. He was hooked up to an IV and a ventilator. He wasn't awake, but Dean grabbed for his hand the first chance he got.

A nurse stayed in the room with them. She explained to Bobby the types of drugs they'd administered to Sam and some of the possible diagnoses she'd overheard the doctors discussing.

Dean wasn't listening to her though. His focus was on Sam and only Sam. He ran his hand through his brother's mop of hair.

_Please be okay, Sammy._

xxx

"We need to move him to surgery. Stat."

That was the first thing to come out of the doctor's mouth when he came bursting back into the room, followed by a group of medical professionals.

Dean stood and he and Bobby pressed against the wall, leaving room for the nurses and what Dean assumed were surgeons. The lead surgeon, a man named Dr. Linney, rattled off instructions in medical jargon Dean couldn't understand, saying things like "infarction in the ileum" and "embolus not present" and "bowel obstruction."

Dean's knees felt weak as he watched Sam get wheeled from his sight once again. He started to sink to the floor, but Bobby wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him standing.

Dr. Preston and Dr. Linney hung back to explain what was going on.

"Sam is suffering from acute mesenteric ischemia," Dr. Preston said, his voice strictly business. "The ultrasound revealed to us that infarction has already occurred in the ileum of his small intestine. That portion needs to be removed immediately."

Dean stared blankly, not understanding what any of that meant.

"I realize that a lot of this is not making much sense, and I'm sure you have many questions," Dr. Linney said. "Dr. Preston will answer any questions you might have about Sam's condition and standard procedure for treatment. Right now, I must excuse myself so I can oversee his surgery."

"But… Is Sam going to be okay?" Dean asked, hating how small - scared - his voice sounded.

"Intestinal ischemia is a very serious condition. The surgery is very invasive, but my team has dealt with this on several occasions. I am optimistic that if we work quickly enough, Sam will make a timely recovery."

Dean swallowed.

"Just do what you need to do, doc," Bobby said, pulling Dean closer to his side.

"Sam is in good hands," Dr. Linney said, voice firm and sure. He nodded curtly and then exited the room.

"Let's have a seat," Dr. Preston suggested. "I'll answer any questions you might have."

xxx

Dr. Preston explained what was going on with Sam in layman's terms. "Basically, a portion of Sam's intestine has died due to decreased blood flow to the area. This condition is usually brought on by a blood clot or low blood pressure, but Sam is extremely fit and that cause is unlikely. We suspect that Sam's intestine is twisted, causing the blood flow to be cut off."

Dr. Preston went on to explain that the outlook for Sam's recovery was good, since only a small portion of his intestine had died. "The hope is that Dr. Linney will be able to reconnect healthy parts of Sam's intestinal tissue." The alternative would be an ostomy, meaning Sam would have to evacuate waste into a bag, instead of through the rectum. Dean couldn't bear the thought of his healthy and fit brother having to use a colostomy bag for the rest of his life.

The doctor handed them a brochure for all the types of intestinal ischemia. Dean's eyes immediately went to the mortality rates and he felt his heart skip a beat. "Guy, you said Sam's outlook was good. This says he has a 50-70% chance of dying!"

"Remember that Sam is young, Dean," Bobby said gently. "He's fit, too. Those numbers reflect all the old and fat people that have this condition."

"He's right," Dr. Preston said, amused by Bobby's bluntness. "Survival rates are much higher for younger patients."

Dean swallowed hard. Despite the doctor's reassurances, Sam's life was still threatened more than he'd thought.

The doctor smiled warmly. "Now, if there are no further questions, I can take you to the waiting area of the surgery ward. We will keep you posted on Sam's condition throughout the entire procedure."

"Thanks, doc," Bobby said as they all stood up.

Dr. Preston crossed the room and pushed open the door. "Follow me."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick disclaimer: I am not a medical professional, so some details in this chapter regarding intestinal ischemia may be inaccurate. I am writing this based on internet research and the recount of a good friend of mine who suffered from this condition.


	13. Chapter 13

Sam's eyelids were too heavy.

He was awake, but he couldn't open his eyes.

It scared him.

The only thing keeping him calm was the sound of Dean and Bobby's voice. They were with him. Wherever he was.

He tried to get his bearings without the luxury of sight. He could hear an intermittent beeping sound, and that should've given it away that he was in a hospital.

That, and the strong smell of antiseptics.

But Sam's mind was admittedly a little hazy, and it took him a while to come to that realization.

Once he did though, he remembered everything. He remembered how much pain he'd been in, how sick he'd been, the ambulance ride, the panic on Dean's face… Horrible,  _horrible_  memories.

He wondered vaguely if he was better now.

He didn't  _feel_  better. Sure, the pain in his gut had diminished, but he still didn't feel right. And he was weak. Hell, he couldn't even open his damn eyes.

Sam tried to speak Dean's name, but all he managed was a low noise in the back of his throat.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was closer now. Gentle, by his ear. "You awake?"

Sam moaned again. He was desperately trying to form words, but he couldn't. Something was covering his mouth.

"Can you open your eyes for me, bud?" Sam felt a warm hand grasp his own.

Sam tried again. It took all of his willpower, but finally,  _slowly_ , he was able to lift his eyelids so his eyes were in slits.

A blurry version of Dean's face swam into his vision. "That's it," Dean praised, a relieved sort of smile on his lips. "Hi, Sammy."

"Hi, D'n," Sam managed, sounding muffled because of the ventilator mask covering his nose and mouth. Talking was hard.

"You know where you are, kiddo?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded, feeling his eyes droop. "H'sp'tal."

"Good, Sam, that's good," Dean said, squeezing his hand a little. "How're you feelin'?"

Sam wasn't too sure. He didn't answer, but that was okay, because Dean started asking more questions.

"Are you comfortable, Sam? Are you in pain?"

Sam couldn't keep his eyes open any longer. He let them close. "M'okay…" he mumbled. "Tired."

"Then go back to sleep, kid." That was Bobby's voice.

"Yeah, Sammy. Get some more rest, man."

"We'll be here when you wake up."

Sam listened, and fell into senselessness once more.

xxx

"So when can I leave?"

Sam was awake again; coherent and sitting up under his own steam. He was breathing okay on his own so his ventilator had been removed. Dean and Bobby had just given Sam the rundown on what had gone on during his stay at the hospital thus far.

It was late now. Well past midnight. Sam was shocked that the whole day had gone by - he'd been asleep for the majority of it, which was part anesthesia and part complete exhaustion.

Sam's stomach wasn't currently in pain, but he was still nauseated, especially since a nurse had just come by to insert a nasogastric tube. That had been a  _very_ unpleasant experience. It was like someone was sticking a finger down his throat and he couldn't do anything to stop it.

"Doc says you should expect to stay seven to ten days," Dean answered.

Sam's heart skipped a beat. "A whole  _week_?" he repeated. "We can't do that! They'll find out we aren't who we say we are. Our insurance cards—"

"Sam, keep your voice down, kid," Bobby said lowly. "And relax. Right now they're none the wiser."

"Yeah, Sammy. And if they do start to get suspicious, which is unlikely, then we'll improvise," Dean said. "Listen, this isn't some normal, run-of-the-mill condition, man. You were really sick.  _Scary_  sick."

Sam heard how Dean's voice wavered, and he knew he'd given him quite a scare.

"Plus, recovering from this surgery is going to take some time," Bobby said, squeezing Dean's shoulder gently. "And some knowledge that we don't have." He nodded at Sam's recently inserted nasogastric tube and the IV he was hooked up to. "So it's best that we do what the doctor says, as long as we're able."

"So we're going to be here through Christmas?" Sam asked, unable to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

"Looks that way, kid," Bobby lamented.

Sam swallowed back the sudden lump his throat, wincing at the soreness from the NG tube. "H-Have you heard from Dad?"

Dean and Bobby exchanged a mournful look, and Sam could tell he was about to be on the receiving end of some bad news. He held his breath.

"No, we haven't," Dean answered with a sigh. "We even tried calling Lou's wife, but all we got was the machine. And Bobby tried to get ahold of some of the hunters he knows that are down there. Nothing."

Sam bit his lip. "Do you think he's okay?" he asked. He was dangerously close to tears now.

"Yeah, Sam, I think he's okay," Dean said, but his voice didn't hold much conviction. "We can't jump to conclusions."

"I paged him the number he could reach us at," Bobby added. "Maybe he didn't get it. I bet there'll be a message waiting for us when I stop by the house in the morning." He winked at Sam. "I'll bring you some fresh clothes."

Sam nodded. "Thanks," he whispered.

Bobby patted Sam's knee. "You know, maybe I ought to page yer Dad again. Make sure it went through. I'll be back in a minute."

He disappeared out of the room, leaving Dean and Sam alone.

Sam met Dean's eyes, searching for just a lick of good news. "What about Michelle?" he asked. "Any word?"

Dean looked down at his hands and shook his head. "Got off the phone a couple of hours ago with her mom. She's still missing." Sam could hear the defeat in his brother's voice..

Sam closed his eyes. "Dean, I'm sorry," he breathed. "This is all my fault… If I was well, we could be back in Madison looking for her."

"Sam, don't be stupid," Dean said firmly. "Don't try to spin this so you feel guilty, you hear me?"

Sam nodded, but it was too late. He already felt guilty. He was ruining Christmas and causing Dean more grief than he needed. He couldn't help the tears that started to fall from his eyes.

"Sam?" Dean raised his eyebrows.

"I'm okay," Sam said hurriedly, swiping his tears with the back of his hand, doing his best to give Dean a wan smile.

"Yeah, you're fantastic." Dean grabbed for the remote on the tray by Sam's bed. "Let's watch some TV, huh?"

"Okay."

Once Dean landed on some reruns of  _Candid Camera_ , he set the remote down. Then he did something that surprised Sam.

He slid into bed with him, wrapping an arm around Sam's shoulders.

Sam looked up at him, puzzled.

"Can see the TV better from here," Dean said gruffly, staring forward.

"Uh-huh," Sam droned, letting his head rest against Dean's chest. "Sure you can."

He always knew his brother was a big softie.


	14. Chapter 14

Dr. Diana Walters was Sam's primary doctor once he was transferred out of the emergency room and into recovery.

Without her lab coat, she was a tall, solidly built woman who carried herself in such a way that commanded respect. She spoke intelligently, not masked with the hint of a southern drawl. She was middle-aged and a proud mother of three.

And she was great with Sam.

Which, bluntly, was all Dean cared about.

He could see the way Sam felt at ease when Dr. Walters spoke with him. Dean knew his little brother was timid around most people, especially doctors. Understandably so, when they readily and frequently committed insurance fraud to receive medical attention…

But with Dr. Walters, Sam was different. Relaxed.

Dean trusted her whole-heartedly.

"How are you feeling this morning, Sam?" she asked, the morning following Sam's surgery.

"Okay," Sam croaked, voice hoarse from his NG tube.

"Your throat a little sore?" Dr. Walters asked, knowingly.

Sam nodded. "I don't like this tube," he said, lazily pointing at his nose where the NG tube was inserted.

Dr. Walters smiled. "Yeah, that's the general consensus we have with those pesky things. But it's necessary to get samples of fluid from your stomach for testing – to check for any signs of bleeding. The good news is: we'll probably be able to remove the tube later this afternoon. How does that sound?"

Sam returned her smile. "That sounds good."

"Doc, Sam is still feeling a little nauseated," Bobby spoke up. "Is that normal?"

"It is," Dr. Walters assured. "Unfortunately, surgery following intestinal ischemia does not always have immediate results. It is likely that Sam will continue to experience nausea frequently in the coming weeks, and that is just a sign of his body adjusting to his new and improved intestinal pathway." She winked at Sam. "And actually, one of the main reasons we insert a nasogastric tube is to address that nausea. One of the tube's functions is to prevent the patient from vomiting, since it is draining the contents of the stomach."

Dr. Walters glanced down at her clipboard and then turned her attention back on Sam. "Looks like you're still running a low-grade fever," she said. "And I bet you're feeling a bit weak and drained. Sound about right?"

Sam nodded.

"That's all normal, Sam." She wheeled her mobile stool closer to the head of Sam's bed and slipped on her stethoscope. "Can you sit up for me?"

While Dr. Walters listened to Sam's breathing, Dean and Bobby exchanged a few words. Bobby had just gotten back. He'd left during Sam's morning doze to shower and bring the boys back some fresh clothes. Dean hadn't been able to speak with him yet, because Dr. Walters appeared seconds after Bobby arrived.

"Any messages from Dad?" Dean whispered, his hopes dangerously high.

Bobby let out a sigh and shook his head. "Nothin'."

Dean closed his eyes. "Fuck," he mumbled, too exhausted to filter his mouth in front of the older man beside him. He reached up and pressed his palms to his eyes. "Bobby, that ain't like him."

"Kid, you said it yourself; we can't jump to conclusions." Bobby patted Dean's knee. "What we can do, is focus on your brother."

"Breathing sounds normal," Dr. Walters announced, taking off her stethoscope. She then proceeded to lift Sam's hospital gown up so she could take a look at his stitches. She gently pressed on Sam's abdomen, in the areas surrounding the incision. "Any pain as I do this?" she asked.

Dean saw Sam swallow. "Yeah," he breathed. "Not real bad, though."

"Just a little tender, huh?"

Sam nodded.

Dr. Walters scribbled something down on her clipboard and gave Sam's shoulder a gentle squeeze before broadening her attention to Bobby and Dean. "For as invasive of surgery as Sam went through, he's doing really well. He is very lucky; not every patient who suffers from intestinal infarction makes it through surgery. You should count your blessings."

Dean swallowed hard. He hadn't stopped counting his blessings since Dr. Linney emerged from the operating room to announce that the surgery had gone successfully. He hadn't left Sam's side, either.

"What happens from here, Doc?" Dean asked.

Dr. Walters smiled warmly. "I was just getting to that." She went on to explain the typical timeline for patients recovering from bowel surgery. At first, Sam was only to consume ice chips, and that had to be done in moderation. By the second or third day, it was likely that Sam would be able to handle clear liquids. The staff would continue to add thicker liquid and soft foods to Sam's diet as his bowels began working again.

"How will we know if his bowels are working?" Bobby asked.

"Passing of gas and the production of stool are clear cuts signs that the bowels are functioning properly. Once one of those two things occur, we will start looking at sending Sam home, upon further evaluation."

Dean couldn't help but smirk at his brother's suspense; his cheeks were beet red.

"Do you have any further questions for me?"

Dean didn't, but Bobby did. "Er, yeah," he said. "Do we know what caused Sam's intestine to go kaput?"

"We have some theories, yes." Dr. Walters let out a deep breath. "In Sam's case, it was a volvulus that led to the infarction of the proximal portion of his ileum. In layman's terms, his intestine was twisted, cutting off sufficient blood supply to the area."

"What causes an intestine to twist?" Bobby pressed.

"Many things," she answered. "Among those are adhesions, hernias, and tumors – all of which are not present in Sam's case. However, poor diet and stress can interfere with proper digestion, and are often indicators of Sam's condition."

Dean's own gut clenched. He was primarily responsible for Sam's food intake, and he admittedly wasn't the best at making sure all the food groups were represented. Processed foods were so much cheaper and readily available. Did that mean he was responsible for what happened to Sam?

"That being said," Dr. Walters continued, "Sam seems physically fit and healthy, and he clearly has a network of support." She was referring to how Bobby, and especially Dean, had been extremely attentive and focused on Sam the entire duration of their stay at the hospital. "I can't imagine that stress played any sort of major role in this. But then again, I never know what goes on behind closed doors."

 _If only you knew, lady,_ Dean thought to himself, glancing at Bobby. The life of a hunter's kid was basically the definition of stress.

"Any more questions?" Dr. Walters asked. Bobby and Dean shook their heads. "Sam?" she inquired, making sure her patient was question-free for the time being.

"No, ma'am," he said quietly, looking down at his hands.

"All right," she said, standing up. "I'm going to see if we can get you on some stronger anti-nausea meds. I'll also have a nurse bring some ice chips. They will help your sore throat."

Sam nodded his thanks.

"I want you to take it real easy today, Sam. If you're feeling up to it, Nurse Adams will take you out into the hall for a short walk later on this evening. It is encouraged that you do a little bit of activity every day while you heal."

"Thanks, Doctor," Bobby said.

She winked at him. "You have a real trooper on your hands. You all take care."

xxx

The phone call came late in the afternoon.

Sam was fast asleep, the way he had been the entire day. Bobby was dozing, snoring softly from the uncomfortable armchair in the corner of the room. Dean was in the chair next to Sam, having given up on any form of sleep long ago.

He was leafing through a magazine when a nurse poked her nose in, smiling brightly. "You have a phone call," she said quietly. "I can put it through to your room."

Dean perked up immediately, alert and oddly relaxed all at the same time. "That would be great," he replied. The nurse nodded curtly and disappeared from the doorway.

Dean wasted no time in picking up the receiver and holding it close to his ear.

There was some crackling on the other side of the line, and then, " _Dean?_ "

"Dad?"

" _Yeah, son, it's me_ ," John assured, though his voice sounded tired and grave.  _"What's going on? Is Sammy all right?_ "

Dean let out a shuddering breath. It was  _so_ good to hear his father's voice after being so distraught with worry. He shakily went on to explain everything that had happened in the last 24+ hours: how they'd taken Sam to the ER, what his diagnosis was, how he'd had surgery… everything.

 _"How's he doin' now_?" John demanded.

Dean reached out to run a hand through Sam's hair. Sam was so out of it that he didn't even flinch. "He's okay. Exhausted, but okay." Dean swallowed hard, and as an afterthought, he said: "I wish you were here, Dad."

" _I wish I was too._ " No hesitation.

"What's it like down there? Do you know what you're dealing with?"

There was a silent pause. " _Yeah, we know what we're dealing with_ ," John answered lowly. " _It's uh – It's demons, Dean. A whole slew of 'em."_

Dean's breath hitched. Demons were not his father's usual gig. No, his typical gigs were angry spirits, and monsters, and pagan gods. That's not to say John hadn't exorcised demons before, because he had, plenty of times. But they were a whole new level of evil – and were much stronger as a crowd than standing alone.

"What do they want?"

John exhaled.  _"Well, there's something I need to tell you, son._ "

Dean's heart jumped into his throat at the sound of his father's grim voice. "What, Dad? What is it?"

John hesitated.  _"These demons… they're after our family. All the killings… especially Lou's death… they were all part of an elaborate plan to get me to Lawrence. And they were expecting me to bring you and Sam along_."

"What? How do you know that?"

" _Because these demons are possessing people, Dean. People we know. People we've come across from town to town."_

Dean felt the color drain from his face, because he was near certain he knew where this was going.

" _That girlfriend of yours… Michelle..."_ John took a deep breath.  _"She's one of them._ "


	15. Chapter 15

"Where's Dean?"

Sam had just woken up, and those were the first words to come out of his mouth. It was a knee-jerk reaction. Whenever Sam was sick, he wanted Dean with him. But right now, only Bobby was in the small hospital room, sitting in the chair next to his bed.

"Whoa, I don't even get a 'hello?'" Bobby joked, setting down the book he was reading. "That's no way to treat the man by your bedside, kid."

Sam closed his eyes. He'd woken up with a monster of a headache and he wasn't really in the mood for playful banter.

Bobby picked up on that quickly. "Hey, I'm only kiddin', Sam," he said, patting Sam's thigh lightly. "Dean just went for a walk. I think he needed some fresh air."

Sam swallowed. "Is he okay?"

Bobby seemed to ponder the question, but chose not to answer it. Instead, he let out a deep breath and changed the subject by saying: "Yer dad called."

Sam sat up a little straighter. "And?"

Bobby sighed. "It's demons. A whole bunch of 'em."

" _Demons_?" Sam repeated, panic sweeping over him. "What do they want?"

"Nothin' good," Bobby answered. "But yer dad knows what he's doing, kiddo. And he has a whole network of hunters who have his back down there."

Sam sank back into the pillows and nodded vaguely. He supposed Bobby was right; it did ease his mind a bit to know his dad wasn't riding solo on this one. Besides, it's not like John didn't hunt the Big Bads on daily basis. It's just that this case was  _personal_. Hit a little closer to home.

"What else did Dad say?" Sam asked, reaching a hand up to rub at his throbbing temples.

Bobby tucked a stray hair behind Sam's ear. "Nothing that you have to worry about. You just focus on recovering." He nudged Sam gently in the ribs. "That's an indirect order from your old man." He studied Sam's face, probably noticing the pain creases in Sam's forehead from his headache. "Speaking of recovering… how're you feelin'? You have a headache or somethin'?"

Sam dropped his arm. "Yeah," he breathed. The pounding in his head was making him rather miserable, but it was a distraction from the soreness and emptiness he was feeling in his gut.

"Want me to get a nurse in here? See if she can give you some more pain meds?"

Sam nodded and closed his eyes.

Bobby squeezed his arm gently. "Okay, pal." Sam heard the chair creak as he stood up. The nurses' station was right outside Sam's room, so instead of using the call button, Bobby and Dean would just step outside the door whenever Sam needed anything.

Sam expected to hear Bobby speaking with a nurse, but instead he heard the sound of Dean's voice.

_"Bobby?"_

_"Hey, Dean."_

_"You lookin' for a nurse? Is Sam okay?"_

_"He woke up with a headache. Just seein' if it's safe to give him some more pain meds. He's already on a bunch of 'em."_

Dean lowered his voice, probably so that Sam wouldn't overhear. It took some straining of the neck, but Sam could make out what he was saying anyway. " _What'd you tell him? About Lawrence?"_

_"Just that yer dad's dealin' with demons. I spared him the grisly details."_

Sam's chest tightened. What grisly details? He didn't like that Dean and Bobby were keeping things from him…

Dean let out a sigh of relief.  _"Good. He doesn't need that crap weighin' down on him."_

" _That's for damn sure."_ There was a pause. " _You okay, son?"_

 _"Yeah, Bobby,"_  Dean replied dully.  _"Aces."_

 _"Can I help you gentlemen?"_ a woman's voice asked, and Sam recognized it to belong to Nurse Adams.

As Bobby explained Sam's predicament, Sam relaxed into the pillows and pretended he hadn't heard the exchange in the hall.

xxx

Moments later, Nurse Adams had entered the room, with Bobby and Dean following closely behind. "Hi, Sam," she greeted brightly. "I hear you have a bit of a headache goin' on."

"Yeah," Sam confirmed, glancing at Dean who was standing at the foot of his bed. His brother looked exhausted. His eyes were red and puffy, as if he'd been crying. And just like that, the anger Sam felt for being kept in the dark melted away.

Nurse Adams looked at Sam's monitors and then scribbled something down on her clipboard. She took a seat on the mobile stool and wheeled it over to the head of Sam's bed. "I'm going to sit you up for a little bit, okay?"

Sam nodded.

The nurse pressed the button on the side of his bed that lifted him into semi-Fowler's position, so he was sitting upright. Sam's head pounded even more from being moved, and he squeezed his eyes closed. He wished she'd just give him the meds.

"All right, Sam, before I administer some more pain meds, what do you say we remove your NG tube?"

Sam managed a smile, because he wanted that pesky thing  _out_. "Sounds good to me," he croaked.

"That's what I thought you'd say," she said happily. She walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a towel. She draped it around Sam's neck. "Now Sam, this will be quick, but it'll also be little uncomfortable. If you want to hold someone's hand, I'm sure your brother wouldn't mind helping you out."

Dean shrugged off his coat and tossed it on the chair behind him. "Sammy?" he said softly, as if he had to ask permission.

Sam just nodded, and relaxed slightly the second he felt Dean's warm hand squeeze his own. He kept his eyes closed while Nurse Adams continued to set up the removal procedure. He really hadn't liked the insertion process, and he was working himself up over the removal. Dean stroked his hand with his thumb, knowing his brother was a nervous wreck.

With a gloved hand, the nurse gently removed the tape from Sam's nose that was holding the tube in place. She also unpinned the tube from his gown. Then she attached a syringe and used it to flush a clear liquid through the tube.

"All right, Sam, we're ready to remove the tube. What I need you to do is hold your breath for me while I pull it out, okay?"

Sam nodded.  _Just get it over with, lady._

"On the count of three; 1…2…3…"

Sam took in a deep breath and held it. He felt a slight tug and could feel the tube sliding slowly up his throat. He gripped Dean's hand, fighting the urge to gag on it. With a final, quick tug, Sam felt it exit his nasal passageway.

"Good, Sam, you did great, kiddo," Nurse Adams was saying. She held a tissue against his nose to wipe away the juice and snot that had exited with tube. "You can breathe now, hon."

Sam tried, but choked instead, which rocketed him into a miserable coughing fit. His head pounded with each cough. "Easy, Sammy," Dean said calmly, waiting patiently for Sam to regain control.

When he had, he slumped back into the pillows, exhausted. "Sorry," he mumbled to the three concerned faces hovering above him.

"Happens to the best of us, sweetie," Nurse Adams assured, handing him some more tissues so he could finish wiping his face. "You okay now?"

Sam shook his head. "Feel sick," he whispered, because he did. He was dizzy and incredibly nauseated again, almost to the point of tears. Removing that tube had really irritated his gag reflex. "D-Dean."

"There's nothing in your stomach, dude," Dean reasoned, brushing the hair out of Sam's eyes. "You'll be all right."

Sam sure didn't  _feel_  all right. He pulled his legs up to his sore stomach and rested his head on his knees. Nurse Adams rubbed his back comfortingly. "It'll pass, hon," she told him gently. "And if it doesn't, you let us know, okay?"

"Okay."

While Nurse Adams administered some more pain meds, Dean climbed up onto the bed with Sam. "Scoot over, runt," he said. He pushed Sam's skinny form over a few inches and nestled in next to him.

Sam sank back into the pillows so he could lean his head against Dean's shoulder. He got a big whiff of his brother's musk. Gunpowder and Funyuns: pure Dean.

"I'll bring some more ice chips," Nurse Adams told Bobby. "They might help with Sam's nausea. And they'll feel good on his throat."

"That sound good, Sam?" Bobby prompted. He took a seat in the armchair.

"Yeah," Sam mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes. "Thanks."

"Of course, sweetheart." Sam heard Nurse Adam's footsteps fade from the room.

"You gonna go back to sleep,  _sweetheart_?" Dean asked, mocking the nurse at his brother's suspense.

Sam yawned at the question, too tired to tease his brother back. "Probably."

"Good," Bobby said. He picked his book back up. "That means you can get some shut-eye, too, Dean."

Dean sighed. "Yeah, I can try."

Sam heard the defeat in his brother's voice, and remembered how red and puffy his eyes were earlier. "Hey Dean?" he said softly, nuzzling deeper into his brother's chest. "You okay?"

Dean rested his chin on Sam's head. "Yeah, Sammy. I'm okay."

Sam scoffed. "Liar."

"Yeah." There was a beat of silence. "You got me."


	16. Chapter 16

Dean woke with a start as Sam stirred in his sleep.

Under Bobby's suggestion, the pair had gotten some shut-eye. It was dark outside now, meaning it was well past dinnertime. Dean glanced over at Bobby's chair and was surprised to find it empty. He thought the older man would've tried to get some sleep too, while he could.

On the table by Sam's bed, Bobby had left a note. Being careful not to disturb his sleeping brother, Dean reached for it, blinking his eyes into focus in order to read.

 _Went to get dinner_.  _– B_

Dean tossed the note aside and focused his attention onto Sam.

His face was still nestled into Dean's chest and he was drooling. Dean could feel the moisture seeping through his T-shirt.

 _Gross, Sam_.

Carefully, Dean shifted Sam so that he was lying more on his back than his front, to avoid any additional drool output. But he immediately regretted doing so when Sam let out a low keening sound at the gentle movement.

Sam's eyes fluttered open and he moaned again.

"Sam?" Dean asked, concerned at the noises of discomfort his brother was making.

Sam looked up at him blankly, confusion on a face that was flushed with fever.

 _Shit_.

Dean straightened up so he could get a better look at him. Sam's eyes had slipped closed again, and Dean impatiently tapped him on the cheek. "Sammy?"

"Hmm?"

"Open your eyes for me, dude." He was trying to keep calm, but Sam's near unresponsiveness was testing his prowess.

When Sam didn't make any effort, Dean's voice became more firm.

"Sam, open your eyes and look at me."

That got him the desired results. Two tiny slits focused on him.

"Good, kiddo. Do you know where you are?" Dean prompted, softening his voice again so he wouldn't scare the kid.

Sam's eyes opened a little wider, bleary hazel orbs listing slightly sideways.

"Don't feel good," he whispered, disregarding the question.

Panic climbed into Dean's throat as he helped his brother sit up.

"What's the matter?"

Sam didn't answer him. He just blinked and stared at Dean helplessly. Normally when Sam didn't answer Dean, he was just being a stubborn prepubescent teen. Somehow, Dean knew that wasn't the case this time. Sam was ignoring him because he was too ill to comprehend what was being asked.

"Sam, c'mon, you need to tell me what's going on."  _You're scaring me here._

Sam told him, all right, by suddenly pitching forward and vomiting into Dean's lap. Since he had only been allowed ice chips since his surgery, only water and bile came up.

Dean closed his eyes briefly to collect himself before reaching for the call button to page a nurse, all the while rubbing soft circles in Sam's back. He could feel heat radiating off of him in waves and deduced that Sam had spiked one hell of a fever. He wished Bobby would come back.

"Feel any better?" Dean asked hopefully, as they waited for a nurse to respond to the call. Maybe throwing up had helped…

 _Double gross, Sam._  
  
Sam shook his head and much to Dean's dismay, began to cry. Instinctively, Dean wrapped his arms around him, quietly hushing him. "It's okay, Sammy," he soothed, as a nurse he didn't recognize bustled into the room. "We're gonna get you sorted out."

After washing her hands, the nurse asked Dean to step aside so she could attend to Sam.

When Dean made to get off of the bed, Sam fisted his T-shirt and clung to him even tighter. "Sam, you have to let me go, man," Dean tried to reason, voice thick with emotion. "You have to let the nurse take a look at you."

Sam wouldn't let go. He was trembling something awful.

He hadn't been this clingy since kindergarten, and it made Dean's concern climb even higher. He looked up at the nurse at a loss.

"It's okay," she told Dean, clearly realizing that Sam would be more compliant if his older brother was beside him. "You can stay there. Maybe try to keep him calm?"

Dean nodded. "You hear that, Sam? I can stay up here with you, but only if you try to relax a little bit. Can you do that?"

Sam nodded and let his death-grip on Dean's T-shirt go. Dean used that opportunity to sit him upright again, keeping his hand splayed behind Sam's back to support him.

The nurse – the name on her badge read 'Helen' – gave Dean a soft, reassuring smile. "Tell me what's going on," she instructed while she checked Sam's pulse.

"He woke up and said he didn't feel good," Dean told her. "He's not very lucid… and he threw up."

Helen nodded and scribbled something down on her clipboard. She raised an eyebrow at Dean. "You have a spare set of clothes?" she asked kindly.

Dean nodded. If he was being completely honest, he didn't care that he was currently stewing in Sam's emesis. He just wanted to figure out what was going on. Sam had seemed so much better after his surgery. Why was he declining all of a sudden?

Helen took Sam's temperature next. He was running high at 103.4, just like Dean has suspected.

"Sam, is it okay if your brother and I help you lie down?" she asked. Dean had to give her credit. She was smart for including Dean in the process. Sam would trust her that way.

"Yeah," Sam breathed.

Once Sam was horizontal, on his back, Helen lifted his hospital gown up to take a look at his abdomen. Sam's stomach looked bloated. Distended even. Dean was no doctor, but he knew that wasn't a good sign.

"Sam, can you describe how your stomach is feeling?" the nurse asked. "Are you in a lot of pain?"

Dean knew his brother wasn't in agonizing pain, because if he was, he'd be curled into himself. "I think he's just uncomfortable," Dean told Helen when Sam didn't respond. He gave his brother a gentle shake. "Sam?"

Sam nodded, eyes drooping. "I just feel… full," he managed, his voice dangerously close to a whine. "I don't like it."

"I know, hon," Helen said, squeezing Sam's shoulder gently. To Dean, she said: "I'm going page Dr. Walters to come take a look. Meanwhile, I'm going to help Sam into a fresh gown and get him some new sheets. Why don't you get changed too?"

Dean nodded. "Yeah, okay," he agreed. "I'll be right back, Sam."

This time, Sam let him go. Helen had won over his trust.

xxx

When Dean emerged from the bathroom, freshly clothed, he was surprised to find that both Dr. Walters and Bobby had arrived.

"…possible peritonitis," Helen was telling Dr. Walters as they hovered over Sam. "His abdomen is very swollen. Fever's up too. That's why I thought you ought to take a look."

"Absolutely," Dr. Walters agreed.

Bobby was hovering by the doorway and Dean hastily made his way over to him. "I can't step away for two seconds, can I?" Bobby asked when he approached. "Ran into Dr. Walters on the way back from the cafeteria and she said she was headed to Sam's room."

"Yeah, he's not…" Dean broke off, watching as Dr. Walters sat down on Sam's bed to look at his abdomen for herself. She tenderly brushed her fingers along his distended skin, pressing gently in certain spots. Sam's eyes were closed and he didn't flinch once. Dean wondered if he'd fallen back asleep. "He's not doing too good."

And now that Dean was standing, he realized he wasn't doing too well either. He felt a little woozy, if he was being honest. His vision was definitely a little gray around the edges. "Can we sit down?" he asked, bringing a hand up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

"Yeah, you look like you need to," Bobby said. His voice was a soft growl, the way he always sounded when he was worried. Dean sat heavily into a folding chair, which left Bobby the armchair. "Here," the older man said, holding a water bottle out to Dean. "Drink some of this."

Dean obliged because seeing the water made him realize how thirsty he was. He started guzzling the bottle down quickly.

"Pace yourself, Dean," Bobby warned, before directing his attention to Sam's doctor. "What's the verdict, doc?"

Dr. Walters sighed and pulled Sam's fresh hospital gown back down over his distended belly. Sam was still fast asleep. "We need to do some blood work to confirm," she said, "but it appears that Sam has developed peritonitis. His abdominal wall is severely inflamed, meaning he's probably fighting off a nasty infection. We need to get him started on antibiotics right away once this is confirmed. I've already paged a team to transport him down to the lab."

Dean wanted to listen and ask questions – he really did, but he was having a hard time remaining conscious or even putting together a coherent thought. Black dots kept dancing in front of his eyes and the room was spinning at too fast of a pace. He kept seeing visions of Sam and John and Michelle and all his fears swirling in front of him at once, and why was he so hot all of a sudden?

He leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He needed to close his eyes… Shut it all off… Just for a brief moment…

xxx

When Dean opened his eyes next, he was looking up at the ceiling, soft voices hovering above him. Someone was tapping his cheek.

"Dean? You back with me?" That was Bobby.

"Back with you…?" Dean asked slowly.

And then it hit him. He was lying on the floor of the hospital, and he sure hadn't done that by choice.

_Triple gross._

"I passed out?" he asked, Bobby's face coming into focus.

"Like a little girl," Bobby confirmed with a nervous chuckle.

Helen knelt down and held a chocolate bar out to him. "You need to eat this, Dean. Your blood sugar's too low."

Bobby helped him into a seated position, keeping a firm hand on his neck to keep him steady.

Dean groaned at the slight vertigo. "Lady, I was just puked on. Eating is the last thing I want to do right now." But he took the bar anyway and humored her by choking down a bite. It tasted like ash. "Where's Sam? Is he okay?"

"Yeah, he's okay," Bobby assured. "He's getting his blood work done. They wheeled him out of here right before you took your little… nap."

Dean nodded and ran his hands through his hair.

"Are you feeling better now, Dean?" Helen inquired.

"I'm fine," Dean said firmly. "Really. Just tell me about Sam and this peri… peri-doodle thing." As an afterthought, he added: "And maybe help me up off this floor?"


	17. Chapter 17

Sam tried to find a comfortable position on the bed.

There was none.

He wanted to call out for Dean, but Dean had finally,  _finally_ fallen asleep. And Sam wasn't about to wake him. The guy had barely slept a wink since Sam had fallen ill. Besides, it's not like Dean could fix the fact that Sam's skin felt too tight or that he was sweating so much he was sticking to his sheets.

Bobby wasn't in the room. Sam wondered if he'd gone home for the night. He hoped so. The man needed his rest too.

With a quiet sigh, Sam turned onto his side, wrapping an arm around his aching middle. He hated feeling so sick. And now he had an infection on top of everything else, just adding to his misery.

It really was shaping up to be the worst Christmas ever.

They'd lost Lou, and now, John was involved in one of the highest stakes hunts of his life.

Demons. That's what he was dealing with in Lawrence.

And not just  _any_  demons. Demons that were possessing people the Winchesters knew. People they'd saved, come across from town to town. And Michelle was one of them. Sam wasn't supposed to know that, but he heard Dean and Bobby talking when they thought he was sleeping.

Sam prayed with all his might that John would bring Michelle home safe. He figured if anybody could, it was his dad.

Dean didn't deserve to lose someone who'd made him so happy. Dean, who'd been playing it off like everything was okay to put Sam's mind at ease. Dean, who hadn't left Sam's side for more than an instant. Dean deserved the very best, and it broke Sam's heart, time and time again, that he always seemed to end up with the worst.

It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

Sam squeezed his eyes shut and wished for sleepiness to take back over.

xxx

"Easy, Sam," Dean said, rubbing between Sam's shoulders in small, slow circles. "It'll pass. Just breathe."

Nausea. Sam was  _so_  tired of the nausea. "Dean…" he whimpered, as saliva continued pool in his mouth. He spit it into the emesis bin that Dean was holding under his chin.

"I got you," Dean whispered.

Sam could do nothing but dry-heave. There wasn't anything left in him, but the nausea wouldn't abate.

He'd awoken, in the dead of the night, choking and gagging on bile. Dean had been there in a flash, alert and reassuring from the get-go.

Sam just wanted it to  _stop_. His throat was burned raw and he couldn't stop the tears that were spilling from his eyes. Thank god Dean was willing to ignore his "no chick-flicks" rule when it mattered, because Sam needed him. And he was there.

He was always there.

"C'mere, Sammy," Dean said, when Sam's body had finished with its upheaval. "You're all right." He set the bin aside and pulled Sam into his chest, being wary of the tubes and wires Sam was hooked up to. "Take it easy."

Dean held him close. The pressure and warmth from his brother felt safe, and Sam relaxed into the touch.

"I think your fever broke," Dean murmured into the top of Sam's head. "You're sweating like a whore in church."

Sam wanted to laugh at his brother's attempt of humor, but he was too spent. "I hate this," he breathed into Dean's shoulder.

"I know, man," Dean said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Me too. Want me to get a nurse in here?"

Sam shook his head. "M'okay now."

Dean pulled away and looked at Sam critically, disbelieving. "You want to go back to sleep then?"

"Not really," Sam sighed. "I just…" he trailed off, voice catching in his throat.

"What, Sam?"

Sam quickly swiped away the tears that were slipping down his cheeks. "I just—" he let out a shuddering breath. "I just really thought this Christmas was going to be different, you know? But everything's—"

"Screwed to hell?" Dean supplied dully. "Yeah."

The pair fell silent after that. Sam settled back in against Dean's chest, feeling his steady heartbeat against his ear. He listened to the even breaths from his brother and the consistent beeping from the monitors. And then a question occurred to him.

"Hey Dean?"

"Hmm?"

"I heard you and Bobby talking earlier," Sam said carefully. "A-About Lawrence."

Dean's heart started beating faster. "Sammy…"

"Why didn't you tell me, Dean? Why didn't you tell me about Michelle?"

It was a dumb question, really. Sam knew why Dean hadn't told him. Dean always had it in his head that he had to protect Sam from  _everything_. It didn't matter how many times Sam tried to tell him that he wasn't a little kid anymore. That he could handle the ugly truths that came with living a hunter's life.

He appreciated the sentiment; was grateful that Dean always had his back. But it made it harder for Sam to have  _Dean's_  back when he had to eavesdrop his way into crucial information.

When Dean didn't respond, Sam sighed. "Look, I get why you kept it from me," Sam assured his brother. "I just need to know if you're okay."

"Yeah, Sam, I'm okay," Dean said, without hesitation. "Dad'll bring her back in one piece."

Sam was amazed at how sure Dean sounded. "You really believe that?" he pressed.

"I have to believe it," Dean answered through gritted teeth. "Because the alternative…" He broke off, refusing to let his voice crack in front of his little brother. "Dad hasn't let me down so far," he reasoned. "He'll bring her back. I know he will."

Sam opened his mouth to comment on his brother's impressive faith, but Dean beat him to the punch. He'd clearly had enough "touchy-feely crap" for one night.

"Let's see what's on TV, huh?" he said gruffly, reaching for the remote.

Sam hummed in agreement and waited patiently while Dean flipped through the channels.

ABC was playing holiday classics all night long, and Dean settled on the cartoon special of  _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_.

"Here ya go, Sammy," he whispered in Sam's ear. "Here's that bit of Christmas you've been searching for."

Sam snorted lightly. "Yeah. I guess we have to work with what we've got."

Dean slung an arm around his shoulders and squeezed. "That's the spirit."


	18. Chapter 18

" _How's Sammy doing? Is he recovering well?"_

After a day and a half of apprehension, John had finally called.

Dean sighed at his father's question. "He was doing better until he developed a nasty infection. He's still really sick, Dad."

It was quiet for a moment.  _"He sleeping?"_

"No. He's just watching some TV."

_"Let me talk to him."_

"'Kay. Hold on."

Dean held the receiver to his chest and reached out to nudge his brother's shoulder. Sam was watching  _The Price is Right_  and seemed to be engrossed in it. "Hey. Dad wants to talk to you, runt."

Sam blinked and turned his head towards Dean with glassy eyes. "'Kay," he breathed.

Dean frowned. He thought hearing from Dad would lift Sam's spirits up, like it had for him. But Sam seemed indifferent. Maybe he wasn't feeling well again…

"You okay?" Dean asked his brother quietly.

Sam nodded vaguely and held his hand out. Dean hesitated before handing the phone over, studying Sam's face carefully.

He didn't look flushed, so that kept Dean from suspecting a fever. But his eyes were sunken and his face was gray.

"Hey Dad," Sam croaked into the phone.

Dean's gaze lingered on Sam a moment longer, before Bobby diverted his attention.

"Yer dad say anything about the hunt?" the older hunter asked quietly.

"Not yet," Dean answered. "He wanted to talk to Sam first. He just told me he was safe."

Bobby cleared his throat. "What about Michelle's parents? Have you talked to them at all?"

Dean stiffened. "No," he answered. Not since before he knew what had happened to her. "What would I say? ' _Oh hi, Mrs. Starr. I know what happened to your daughter! She became possessed by a demon and now she's in Lawrence wreaking havoc. But don't worry, my dad's in Lawrence too, and he has it under control.'_ They'll think I'm nuts! Or worse, they'll think Dad kidnapped their daughter."

Bobby chuckled lightly. "Good point, kid. Guess we'll have to see how all of this pans out before we involve the outsiders."

Dean nodded vaguely, but once again, his attention was back on Sam. Sam, whose eyes were watering with unshed tears as he listened to John.

"I know. I will," Sam said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "I-I love you, Dad. Be safe." He lifted his hand to swipe at his eyes and then held the phone out to Dean.

Dean took the phone, and squeezed Sam's leg comfortingly before holding the receiver back up to his ear. "Dad? What'd you say to him? It's not every day that kid tosses you the 'I love you.'"

It was true.  _I love you_  was not a commonality among the Winchesters. It was always expressed in a different way: through the fierce protectiveness each one had for one another.

John let out a wet chuckle. " _I just told him I wished I was there_ ," he said, voice strained.  _"I do, Dean. I hate that he's so ill and I can't be there."_

Remorse. Regret. Two things John Winchester didn't typically express. But Dean supposed this qualified as an unusual circumstance.

"I know, Dad. It's okay."

 _"No, it's not okay_ ," John stated bluntly. He cleared his throat gruffly.  _"Listen, Dean. We've got a count on how many demons we're dealing with. And we've got a plan that could end all of this tonight."_

Dean's heart leapt. "Really?"

_"Yeah. Right now we're sheltered in the local market. They've got the place surrounded."_

Dean swallowed. "How many are there?"

John sighed. " _Twenty-seven."_

Dean flinched. Twenty-seven. Somehow, he didn't think that number was a coincidence. Because that happened to be the number of people John hadn't managed to save in his many years on the job.  _Twenty-seven_.

That number haunted his father, despite the hundreds upon hundreds of people he  _had_ saved.

Demons were horrifically creative in the ways they messed with people.

"Dad, that's…"

_"I know, son."_

Dean cleared his throat. "And how many hunters?"

" _There're eight of us_."

Dean did some quick math in his head, figuring out a 3.5 to 1 demon to hunter ratio. He wasn't sure how he felt about those numbers. "So what's the plan?"

" _Open the doors, let them all in. And we fight."_

Dean felt the blood drain from his face. "You're serious."

_"Yeah, Dean, I'm serious. Look, we have enough rock salt for ammunition. It's risky, yes, but I think we have the upper hand. We set up a bunch of devil's traps and we're hoping we can use our ammunition to trap them long enough to carry out a mass exorcism."_

Dean wasn't sure he liked the plan – it was the  _definition_  of risky – but he also couldn't think of a better alternative. He trusted his old man could execute, even if it was the highest stakes hunt of his life. "Okay," he said softly. "Just be careful, Dad."

" _I will be_ ," John promised, trying to cover up the slight waver in his voice.  _"You keep looking after Sam, you hear?"_

"Yeah, Dad, of course."

 _"I'll be home by Christmas Eve, son,"_ John said determinedly.  _"Put Bobby on the phone, will you? I need to make sure I've got the incantation right for this exorcism."_

"Sure," Dean said, unable to speak above a whisper due to the lump his throat. "Bye, Dad."

" _I'll see you soon, Dean."_

The "I love you" remained unspoken, but it was the loudest it'd ever been.

xxx

Once Dean had passed the phone off to Bobby, Sam got his attention immediately. Because he'd grabbed the emesis basin and was holding it securely in his crisscrossed lap. Dean guessed the ice chips he'd had earlier were threatening to make a reappearance.

"Sammy," he sighed, heart breaking at the sight. "You're killin' me, man."

Sam didn't respond to that. He just ran his hands through his greasy hair and breathed deeply, letting his eyes slip closed.

Dean scooted his chair closer to his brother's bed so he could rub his back. Sam remained hovering over the bin for a while, but never threw up. And Dean was about to mark it down as a win when…

"Dean?" Sam spoke suddenly, his voice oddly calm. His head dipped and he let it fall into the palms of his hands.

"What, Sam?" Dean asked, concern building in his chest once more.

"M'really dizzy," he answered, tears slipping from his eyes. "I-I don't feel right."

Dean licked his lips nervously. "Maybe you should lie back down," he suggested. Having recently passed out himself, Dean knew the signs all too well. And that seemed to be the direction Sam was going in.

He took the bin away from Sam and set it aside. Then he stood up and scooped his hands beneath Sam's torso, helping him lean back. He was careful not to move too quickly, knowing Sam abdomen was still giving him a world of trouble. Sam was limp in his arms, head lolling slightly, as he blinked rapidly and tried to remain conscious.

"Bobby," Dean said, not caring that he was interrupting the older gentleman's phone conversation. "We've got a situation here. Can you get a nurse?"

Bobby hastily ended his phone conversation with John and then hurried into the hallway.

"Dean," Sam moaned, reaching up with one hand to clutch at his forehead, eyes listing to the side.

"You're okay," Dean said as calmly as he could manage as he grabbed the spare pillows and stuffed them under Sam's legs for elevation. "Keep breathing, Sammy."

"Dean… I can't…"

"Yes you can, kiddo," Dean coaxed. "Just look at me."

Sam tried, he really did. But Dean could see the focus slipping from his eyes. Could see the beads of sweat on his clammy brow. Could see the color draining from his face.

He passed out cold just as a nurse entered the room.


	19. Chapter 19

"You back with me? Sammy?"

If the voice asking the question hadn't sounded so panicked, Sam probably would have ignored it completely. He was  _so tired_. And everything hurt. And he felt empty and sick and all he wanted to do was curl up in a ball and shut out the damn world.

But the hand tapping his cheek was clearly not going to let that happen. "Sammy."

Sam moaned, wondering vaguely why Dean was so set on waking him. He opened a bleary eye to find Dean's face close to his, eyes searching desperately.

"Wh't's the m'tter?" Sam mumbled.

Dean stopped tapping his cheek.

"Oh, thank God," he heard Bobby say.

"You scared the hell out of us, Sam." That was Dean.

"What…?"

"You passed out, hon," the nurse by his bedside informed him sweetly. She was a nurse Sam recognized, but he couldn't keep up with remembering all of their names. He'd had a lot of nurses over the few days he'd been hospitalized.

"You were out for almost three minutes, dude," Dean said.

Sam blinked. He couldn't remember. "Oh."

"Sam, I want you to stay lying down and relax for me, sweetie," the nurse instructed. She got a pillow out from the cabinet by the door, and added it to the pillows that were elevating his feet. "How are you now, Sam? Are you feeling okay?"

"I think so," Sam answered. He hadn't been given much time to get a hold of his bearings and grasp how he was truly feeling. "M'still a little dizzy," he added as an afterthought. Everything was hazy around the edges.

"Okay," the nurse said gently. "If it helps to close your eyes, you can, Sam. But I want you to try and stay awake so you can answer some of my questions, okay? We want to figure out why you lost consciousness so it doesn't happen again."

Sam nodded and let his eyes slip closed.

He felt the nurse grasp his wrist to check his pulse. "How's your breathing, Sam? Does you chest feel tight at all?"

"A little," Sam answered, because his chest had felt weird ever since he woke up that morning. He just hadn't mentioned it because his stomach was causing him much more trouble. "Feels like there's a weight on it," he further explained.

"How long has this been going on Sam?" the nurse asked.

Sam yawned. He just wanted to go back to sleep. "Since I woke up this morning," he answered.

"Sam!" Dean admonished. "Why didn't you say something?"

Sam opened his eyes. "It wasn't that bad," he said, wishing his voice didn't sound so weak. "I didn't think it was a big deal."

"It might not be," the nurse said gently, "but I'd like to listen to your breathing, if that's okay."

Sam nodded his consent.

"I'm going to help you sit up, but I want you to tell me if you need to lie back down at any point, okay?"

Sam nodded.

"Dean, you want to give me a hand?"

The pair hoisted Sam up so he was in the seated position, and Sam found it difficult to keep his head up. Luckily, Dean was there to help hold him upright.

"How's your stomach?" Dean murmured in Sam's ear, obviously concerned that the movement might've caused some nausea.

"It's okay right now," Sam assured him, flinching when the nurse's cold stethoscope touched the skin on his back.

Sam breathed deeply when the nurse told him to, and found that it  _was_  kind of difficult to get air in. After the nurse was finished listening, she pulled Sam's gown back down and put the stethoscope back around her neck.

"Your breathing's a little shallow, Sam. I think we might need to put you back on oxygen until your chest loosens up."

Sam groaned. He hated being on the ventilator.

The nurse squeezed his shoulder. "I know it's not your favorite, but I think it will help." To Bobby, she said, "I'm going to step outside and confer with Dr. Walters. I'll be back in few minutes to get him set up."

Once she left, Dean helped Sam lie back down and then punched him lightly in the shoulder. "From now on, you tell us if anything's wrong. I don't care if your nose so much as itches. You tell us about it. You hear me?"

Sam managed an apologetic smile. "Okay, Dean."

xxx

Since it was hard to talk around the ventilator mask, Sam had decided to give into sleep rather than carry on a conversation with his company. He awoke around six o'clock to Bobby and Dean eating some soup from the cafeteria.

"Hey, look who's awake," Dean said happily when he stirred. "How're you feelin', Sleeping Beauty?"

"Better," Sam answered, though it came out muffled through the mask. As much as he disliked the ventilator, Sam had to admit that it was helping.

"You're not dizzy anymore?" Bobby asked.

Sam pushed himself up into the sitting position. "No, not right now," he answered. "Where's that music coming from?" He could hear a quiet Christmas melody floating into the room from the hallway.

"There's a string quartet going from room to room to play some holiday songs for the patients," Bobby answered. "They're about two rooms away."

Sam grinned. "Glad I woke up. I wouldn't want to miss them." He'd always wanted to learn the violin but didn't think it was worth it to join the school orchestra. He'd always have to move before the big concert, so what was the point?

Dean rolled his eyes. "Geek."

"Hey, they're pretty good, Dean," Bobby defended them. "It's nice of them to come around and do this for the patients."

"Yeah, Dean."

"Whatever." Dean stood up to throw his soup container away. "You think you can handle some more ice chips, Sam?"

Sam swallowed. "Maybe?" At least if he had ice chips he'd have an excuse to take the ventilator mask off.

"I'll go get you some," Dean offered, and disappeared into the hall.

"I think yer brother's gettin' antsy," Bobby commented. "I told him to go to my place tonight and get a good night sleep." He paused. "And a shower."

Sam chuckled as he set his mask aside. "Good idea. Did he agree to that?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm thinking not a chance."

Bobby tapped the side of his nose to gesture that Sam was right. "He's a stubborn idjit."

"I think that comes with being a Winchester," Sam lamented with a sigh.

Bobby laughed. "Yeah, I think you're right, kid."

xxx

"What's your favorite Christmas tune, Sam?"

The string quartet had arrived. They were a group of young men dressed in suits from Augustana University. There was a cello player, two violinists, and a viola player.

Sam bit down on his lip. He wasn't sure if he had a favorite.

Seeing that Sam was at a loss, Bobby decided to chime it. "I've always liked  _Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas._ "

"We can do that," one of the violinists said cheerfully. "How's that sound, Sam?"

Sam shrunk into his pillows, a little nervous. "That sounds good," he said softly. "Thanks."

The cellist counted off and they started playing.

Sam smiled contently as Dean patted his knee. He closed his eyes and let the melody take him away.


	20. Chapter 20

Dean was almost jealous as he watched Nurse Helen give Sam a much needed sponge bath. Sam's eyes were closed, relishing in the warm water as she gently ran the cloth over his still body.

Dean had gone back to the salvage yard earlier that morning to grab a shower of his own. He hadn't wanted to leave Sam, but a certain older hunter had resorted to forceful measures.

"You stink, boy," Bobby had said in a hushed, but firm, tone. Sam was still asleep. "And you look raggedy as hell." Bobby had taken Dean by the arm and pushed him out into the hallway. "Take my keys and go get yourself a damn shower. I'll stay here with Sam. I ain't lettin' you back in that room until you've gotten reacquainted with soap."

When Dean opened his mouth to protest, Bobby softened his voice but his stance was unwavering.

"It'll make you feel better, Dean," he insisted. "And I'm willing to bet Sam'll stay asleep until you get back."

So with a sigh, Dean had extended a reluctant arm and Bobby dropped the keys of the tinker he'd been driving lately into his open palm. Then Dean hightailed it out of there, not wanting to be gone longer than an hour.

He had to hand it to Bobby, because he  _did_  feel better after he'd taken a shower. He'd let the warm stream of water wash away all of the grime, and anxiety, and tension he'd accumulated over the last week, and when he emerged, he felt refreshed and more prepared to face another day.

It was when he was driving back to the hospital that it occurred to him that it was December 24th. Christmas Eve.

He snorted at the realization.

He remembered that John had prospected returning by that night. And while Dean appreciated his father's determination to get back to Sam as quickly as possible, he knew not to hold his breath. Because things didn't always go as planned when demons were involved.

It would take a miracle for John to actually turn up in time for Christmas.

And miracles and "Winchester" never seemed to go together.

xxx

"You feel better?" Dean asked, settling into his post by Sam's bed once the nurse had finished bathing him. Sam was clean and freshly gowned.

And very quiet.

Sam lifted one shoulder up in a shrug.

"You tired?" Dean asked. "Do you want to go back to sleep?"

Sam shook his head and took in a shuddering breath.

Dean swallowed hard, realizing that his brother was on the verge of tears. He leaned forward in his seat, putting a hand on Sam's shoulder and craning his neck to see his face better.

"Hey, what's the matter?"

"Nothing," Sam insisted unconvincingly, glancing at Bobby and then looking back down quickly.

Keeping his hand on Sam's shoulder, Dean turned his head to look at Bobby, silently asking him to give them some privacy. The older gentleman nodded his understanding and then cleared his throat as he stood up. "I'm going to make a coffee run," he announced. "Back in a few."

He slipped out the door quietly.

"Okay, Sam, it's just you and me now," Dean assured him. "What's goin' on, huh?"

Sam still didn't answer. He wouldn't look Dean in the eye.

"Are you dizzy again? Sick to you stomach?"

Sam shook his head and Dean saw some tears drip down onto the sheet. Sam's breath hitched – like he was trying to stop himself from this sudden turmoil – but it was to no avail. He started to cry.

"Hey," Dean said softly, promptly climbing into bed next to brother. He slipped his arm around Sam's shoulders and pulled him in close. "What's going on, Sammy?"

Sam sniffed. "I-It's Christmas Eve," he said softly.

Dean's heart tightened. He knew Sam must be down in the dumps about spending Christmas sick and in the hospital. "I know, kiddo. And I know you're not thrilled about spending the holidays here. But we'll still have fun. You'll see."

Sam shook his head. "It's not just that," he said, wiping his eyes to stop the tears. "I… I don't have a p-present for you, Dean."

Leave it to Sam to consistently shatter Dean's heart into a million pieces. "Is that why you're so upset?" Dean asked, giving his brother a little shake. "Aw, Sammy, you know I don't care about that."

Sam wiped at his eyes again. "I was going to get you the new Radiohead tape. I've been saving up for it."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Saving up for it? Didn't realize you had an income, Sammy."

Sam huffed an almost-laugh. "I don't. But I rationed the lunch money Dad gave us."

Dean let out an amused snicker. "Oh yeah? How did you do that?"

"Well, PB&J is 75 cents cheaper than the entrée option. So I just ate that for two weeks until I'd saved up enough cash."

"You ate PB&J for two weeks?"

Sam shrugged. "I  _like_  PB&J, Dean."

Dean laughed because that was the understatement of the century. He gave his brother a tight squeeze. "The only present I need is for you to get better. You know that, right?"

Sam nodded against Dean's shoulder.

"Good."

xxx

It was snowing.

A lot.

And normally, snow was something that was able to cheer Sam up.

But not today.

"Dad's not going to make it, is he?" he asked glumly, glaring out his window at the swirling flakes falling from the sky.

"He still might," Bobby said. They were gathered around Sam's bed, playing a game of  _War_ with some cards Bobby picked up from the gift shop. "It's supposed to let up."

"Yeah, have some faith, Sammy," Dean agreed, even though he was seriously lacking in faith himself. He cleared his throat gruffly. "Did you finish your juice?"

Sam had graduated from ice chips and was now allowed to incorporate some clear liquids into his diet. Apple juice had been his first choice.

"Yeah, it's gone," Sam answered. His hand hovered over his midsection.

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Is it sittin' okay?"

Sam made a face, but nodded. "I think so."

"Well, keep the bin close, just it case," Bobby advised, handing the emesis basin over to Sam.

Sam took it reluctantly and tucked it beside him. He let out a sigh as he tossed another card onto the sheet in front of him. They'd been playing  _War_ for a while, and Dean had a feeling his brother was getting tired.

When Sam yawned, he confirmed it.

"Hey," Dean said. "How 'bout we pick this game up later? You look half-asleep, Sam."

"I am kind of tired," Sam admitted through another yawn.

Dean was glad, because he was tired too.

"How about we all take a nap?" Bobby suggested. He collected the cards, making sure to keep them in three separate piles so they could play later.

He took the armchair cot, and Dean crawled into bed next to Sam. Just to close his eyes for a little while…

He had just about fallen asleep when he heard the door creak open. A nurse - one he didn't recognize - poked her head in. Dean sat up, being careful not to disturb Sam or Bobby who hadn't stirred from her ingress.

"Mr. Warner?" she said softly. "You have a phone call. I can put it through to your room."

"That'd be great," Dean returned quietly, eagerly reaching for the receiver. "Thanks."

He waited a couple of moments for the nurse to make the switch.

There was interference on the other line, but he could make out the sound of someone crying in the distance. There was shuffling of the phone and then heavy breathing.

Dean swallowed hard, panic swirling in his gut.

"...Dad?"


	21. Chapter 21

"Dad!"

Sam startled awake to the sound of Dean's frantic voice.

"Dad, I-I can't hear you…"

Dean was sitting up with the phone receiver pressed firmly against his ear, listening frantically, eyes searching.

Sam pushed himself up. "Dean?" he asked quietly, heart thumping wildly in his chest out of concern for his father.

Dean held his finger up to silence him. "What?" he barked into the phone. He licked his lips nervously, as if waiting for an answer he wouldn't get. "Dad?"

Sam frowned as his brother continued to listen, worry etched into his features.

Moments later, Dean's face fell and he slid the receiver up to his forehead, letting his head hang limply. "Son of a bitch," he breathed. "Fuck…"

"Dean?" Bobby was awake now too. He stood up to put a comforting hand on Dean's neck. "Was that yer old man?"

Dean sighed loudly and hung the receiver up at its base. "Yeah. Couldn't understand a damn thing he was saying though."

"Interference?"

Dean nodded. "Line went dead."

"But you're sure it was Dad?" Sam asked eagerly. "He's okay?"

Dean ran his hands through his hair. "He's alive, at least."

Bobby gave Dean's neck a gentle squeeze. "Well, hey, after taking on 27 demons that's the best we could've hoped for, huh?"

Dean bit down on his lip, and looked away, reaching an arm up to wipe at some tears that had formed in his eyes.

"You're wondering about Michelle, aren't you?" Sam said knowingly. He might've been sick, but that didn't stop him from being able to read his brother like an open book.

Dean nodded. "Dad sounded… upset," he said hoarsely. "A-And I thought I heard him say her name…"

"Dean, don't do this, son," Bobby warned lowly.

"Do what?"

"Jump to conclusions. You just said you couldn't hear a damn thing John was saying. He could've been telling you that the girl's all right." He gave Dean a swift pat on the back. "I'm sure he'll call back when he gets clear of what I'm guessing is demonic interference. Until then, we need to stick to what we know."

Dean nodded and let out a shaky sigh. He glanced at Sam. "So much for a nap, huh?" he said. "I'm sorry, man, I know you're spent."

Sam shrugged. "Not a big deal." He knew getting sleep wouldn't make him any less tired. He was perpetually exhausted these days, no matter how much sleep he got. Besides, his stomach had started feeling funny again and he knew sleep wouldn't come easily. He wasn't about to tell Dean that though. The last thing he wanted to do was add to his brother's trepidation.

They resumed their game of  _War_  and waited for the call to come.

xxx

Sam moaned as another spasm rippled through his abdomen.

Two hours later, and the funny feeling in his gut had turned into cramps, and they were getting progressively worse as time went on.

Sam hadn't been able to keep it to himself any longer.

So now, Dean was in front of him, letting his brother lean his forehead against his chest. Sam's arms were curled around his middle, that little bit of pressure alleviating some of the discomfort.

"Just breathe, Sammy," Dean coached nervously, clearly distraught by Sam's distress. "Do you feel like you might throw up?"

Sam shook his head, and reached out to fist Dean's T-shirt in his hand. The cramps were getting more frequent. More painful.

Bobby had gone to fetch a nurse and Sam felt like crying.

He hated that he was sick. He hated that he was stuck in this damn hospital on Christmas Eve. He hated that he couldn't seem to get better.

And he hated that John still hadn't called back.

xxx

To Sam's surprise, the nurse considered his cramps a sign of improvement.

"A lot of the times, cramps are a sign that the patient is getting ready to pass gas," she explained. "And passing gas is a sign that your bowels are working again."

Sam felt his face redden. It was embarrassing when the nurse started talking about him having to flatulate in order to be discharged from the hospital. It was something he was sure Dean would tease him about mercilessly once he was well.

"Is there anything you can give him for the pain?" Bobby asked. "The kid's pretty miserable."

"Unfortunately, the medication that would alleviate Sam's pain the best would be an antiflatulent agent. Giving that to Sam would be counterintuitive since the goal is for him to flatulate." She met Sam's eyes sympathetically. "But I know that these cramps can be extremely uncomfortable. Sometimes a heating pad helps patients manage them a little better. Would you like me to bring you one, Sam?"

Sam nodded. He was willing to try anything at this point.

While the nurse was gone, Sam asked Dean to help him lean back against the pillows. The movement caused more spasms to ripple through his stomach and Sam whimpered in pain. "Shit, Sam, I'm sorry," Dean apologized.

"Not your fault," Sam gritted out, mortified that tears were leaking from his eyes.

Dean slipped off the bed and took a seat in the armchair. Then he reached out to place his hand on Sam's abdomen. Sam knew he was trying to provide comfort – and he was. The pressure from Dean's heavy hand felt good. But Sam was self-conscious about his bloated stomach, and didn't want to be touched there.

"Dean," he said miserably, closing his eyes. "Don't."

"Why, does it hurt?" Dean asked quickly, immediately withdrawing his hand. "I'm sorry, Sammy, I thought it would help. I didn't mean to—"

"It didn't hurt," Sam interrupted, wanting to reassure his already-on-edge brother. He reopened his eyes and tried to explain. "I-I just don't want you to… to touch me there. I'm sorry."

Dean relaxed and his eyes turned from frantic to understanding. "Don't apologize, man. I get it." He was quiet for a moment. "How 'bout you hold my hand instead?" he offered, desperate to help in  _some_  way. "Can squeeze it when a cramp comes."

Sam raised his eyebrows. That was quite a girly gesture for Dean Winchester to be willing to subject himself to.

"C'mon, dude," Dean pressed. "You're hurting. This could help. Don't make it weird."

Sam gave his brother a wan smile and took his hand just as the nurse returned with the heating pad. She slid it underneath Sam's gown, and he sighed gratefully at the warmth it brought. She'd also brought Sam some more juice and set it on the table beside the bed.

"Just let me know if I can do anything else for you, Sam," she said, adjusting the pillow behind him.

"I will. Thanks."

She squeezed his shoulder and left.

The cramps were still there, but the nurse was right: the heating pad helped manage the pain. Sam let the warmth consume him and closed his heavy eyes.

Dean didn't let go of Sam. He soothingly traced his thumb against the back of his hand.

And vaguely, before Sam gave into exhaustion and fell asleep, he realized the contact was more for his brother's benefit than his own.


	22. Chapter 22

Dean grimaced as Sam squeezed down on his hand. It was amazing that someone as sick and weak as Sam could still manage to squash his hand with bone-crushing force when a cramp swept over him.

"Ugh," Sam panted. "This sucks."

"Yeah. No kiddin'. I think you broke all the bones in my hand."

"You offered," Sam reminded him through gritted teeth.

"A valid point," Dean admitted. He cringed in sympathy as Sam swung his free arm across his body to clutch his abdomen. Sam had fallen asleep, only to be woken fifteen minutes later with more of the same damn cramps. And Dean knew he was exhausted. "What can I do, man? Is your heating pad still warm?"

Sam nodded and relaxed a little as his current bout of cramps subsided. "Helps," he breathed. He was quiet for a moment. And then: "Hey, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever think about Mom this time of year?"

He asked the question so simply – so out of the blue – that it caught Dean completely off-guard. Usually when Sam brought up their mom it was on Mother's Day or her birthday. Or November 2nd.

Dean cleared his throat. He wasn't very comfortable talking about Mary, mainly because it stirred up emotions and memories in him that he was always trying so hard to suppress. "Yeah, sometimes," he answered, failing to keep his voice even. "Why?"

Dean glanced over to Bobby's empty chair, grateful that the older man wasn't there to hear this conversation. He'd gone to call some hunters in Denver after reading the morning's paper. There'd been some so-called animals attacks that Bobby had sized up to be something actually quite different. Werewolf different.

Sam shrugged his shoulders. "I've been thinking about her a lot."

"You didn't even know her, Sam," Dean snapped, surprised at himself for being so harsh. But he didn't like that Sam had brought Mary up. He had enough on his mind without thinking about her too.

Dean saw his brother falter and look out the window. Sam let go of his hand, a testament to how offended he was from Dean's callous words.

Dean immediately tried to make amends. "Look, Sam, I'm sorry," he said, softening his voice. "That didn't come out right. C'mon, man, look at me." He nudged Sam's shoulder gently, wanting – needing – the kid to look at him.

Sam did. He met Dean's eyes remorsefully and shook his head. "No, I'm sorry," he said. "It was stupid of me to…" He trailed off. "Just forget it, Dean. It's okay."

He didn't sound okay.

Dean sighed. "What's going on, Sammy?"

Sam looked down at his hands. "It's nothing," he mumbled. "I just… I think I miss her. And I know that's stupid because I never knew her. I wouldn't even know what she looked like if it weren't for those pictures."

Dean closed his eyes, struck by the enormity of what Sam was disclosing to him. "It's not stupid, Sam." He patted his brother's leg and reopened his eyes. "I miss her too."

"Yeah, but you knew her. You remember her."

Dean bit down on his lip. "I didn't know her. Not really." He started pulling on a loose thread on the sheet of Sam's bed. "I guess I have a few memories of her here and there. Good ones, too."

"Angels are watching over you?" Sam asked.

Dean nodded. "Yeah, that's one of them," he answered, a smile threatening to tug at his lips. "Told me that every night. She told you too, you know. Once you came along."

Sam sniffed. "I wish I could remember."

Dean shook his head. "Trust me, kid. You're better off. Because they're not all good. The memories."

"What do you mean?"

Dean breathed deeply. "When I think about Mom, I mostly just go back to that night. The fire."

"You remember that?" Sam croaked.

Dean nodded. "Sort of. I remember the fire. The heat on my face. How scared I was." He swallowed hard as the memory overtook him. "I remember seeing Dad's knees collapse as our house caved in. I remember knowing – understanding – in that moment, that Mom was gone. And I swear I can still hear the sound of you crying, man."

Sam frowned and hesitantly reached out to grab Dean's hand again. "You never told me all that before."

"Yeah, well." Dean shrugged his shoulders and swallowed back the lump in his throat. He cleared his throat, wanting to get off this topic that had gotten Sam looking at him with empathetic eyes. "How's your stomach doing?

"Still cramping," Sam answered. "Just not as bad as before."

"And you haven't, you know…?"

Sam's face reddened again, always embarrassed when they started talking about his impending flatulence. "I'll let you know when I do, Dean," he said so quietly that Dean almost didn't hear him.

Dean chuckled. "Okay, man. You want to try some more juice?"

Sam did. So Dean grabbed the cup and brought the straw up to his brother's mouth.

He only took two sips and then stopped abruptly. Dean raised his eyebrows. "That's all?" he asked.

Sam nodded and pointed towards the door. Dean frowned and turned his head to see what had captured his brother's attention. A nurse was standing in the doorway.

"You have another phone call," she announced sweetly. "You know the drill."

xxx

"Dean?"

Relief. Clarity. "Dad."

"Michelle's okay."

Dean fell silent. He had to make sure he'd heard correctly.

"Son?"

"Yeah, m'here. I heard you." The relief that was washing over Dean was unlike he'd ever felt. Overwhelming. Michelle's okay. Michelle's okay. She's okay. He was thankful that his dad knew what the first question out of his mouth would be. "Where are you? What took you so long to call?"

"We're in Omaha. I had to make sure it was safe to call again."

"Do you have cops on your ass?"

"Hard to be sure. But I know they're looking for someone to blame for the damage. The market is wrecked, and so is the surrounding area."

Dean noticed the strain in his father's voice. "Did everyone make it out okay?"

Silence.

"Dad?"

"We'll talk details later, Dean," John said lowly, his voice close to a growl. "Right now I'm just focused on making it to you. How's Sammy doin'? Is he okay?"

Dean glanced at his brother who was watching him intently. "Yeah, he's hanging in there."

"Good. We're three hours out. Is it snowing up there?"

"Yeah, but it's letting up."

"It stopped," Sam corrected, knowing what Dean was referring to.

"Sam says it's stopped, actually."

"Good. Listen, Dean. Michelle's parents are on their way to Sioux Falls. We should make it to you well before them, but I wanted you to know they've been contacted."

Dean nodded. "Thanks," he said hoarsely. "A-And Michelle's really okay?"

"A little beat up. Pretty spooked. But yeah. She's okay, son."

"And you?" Dean asked softly. There was something in John's voice…

"What?"

"Are you okay, Dad?"

Hesitation. And then: "I will be once I'm with you boys. I'm going to hang up now, Dean. I'll see you soon."

Click.


	23. Chapter 23

Sam was not feeling well at all.

His cramps had subsided some, but had been replaced with more nausea.

But even as he sat there, feeling sick and miserable with the emesis basin nearby, he still had a smile on his face.

Because Dean was happy –  _relaxed_  – for the first time since they'd left Madison. He could breathe: John and Michelle were on their way to Sioux Falls. They were okay.

Sam couldn't believe they were going to be spending Christmas together after all.

"Hey, Sammy, check it out!"

Dean was flipping through the channels on the mounted TV. He'd landed on one that was playing  _Home Alone_. The movie had just started, and Dean seemed pretty ecstatic about that.

"This is your favorite Christmas movie, isn't it Sam?" he asked eagerly.

Sam nodded. It was. He could really relate to young Kevin McCallister. They had a lot in common. He knew what it was like to be left behind and he knew what it was like to have to hold down the fort when Dean and John were off on a hunt.

In fact, the last time Dean joined their father on a hunt, that's what he'd said before they left. "Don't answer the door. Lay low. Keep any entrances salted at all times. _Hold down the fort, Sammy_."

To which Sam had nodded and replied, "Be safe, Dean."

Sam was grateful for  _Home Alone_. It would take his mind off his nausea and would help the time spent waiting for John's return go more quickly.

The only trouble was, Sam fell asleep. It was as if the harder he tried  _not_ to fall asleep, the more he started to drift off. He wanted be awake for John's arrival, but his body's needs won out, and he fell asleep while Kevin McCallister was setting up his booby traps.

xxx

Sam woke up feeling like he was going to be sick.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw something – or rather,  _someone_  – that distracted him from that sensation. John was sitting in the chair beside him, arm extended and resting on Sam's thigh.

John was awake, staring blankly at TV – even though it was turned off. He looked wrecked. Dark circles plagued the skin under his eyes and his jacket was battered and bloodied. But he was  _here_. He was really here. The immense amount of relief Sam felt brought him close to tears.

"Dad?" Sam croaked a greeting.

And John broke out of his trance.

"Heya, Sammy," he said gently, squeezing Sam's leg a little. "Did you have nice nap?"

Sam blinked and nodded. He pushed himself up with shaky arms. He and John were the only two in the room. Sam swallowed hard. "Where's Dean?" he asked, trying to ignore the overwhelming nausea threatening to rise.

Sam saw John's face fall slightly, and he could've kicked himself. He hadn't seen his father in four days, and the first thing out of his mouth was an inquiry of Dean.

"He's down in the cafeteria with Michelle, and Bobby went to grab me a cup of Joe," John responded, as he reached up to palm Sam's forehead. "It's good to see you, son. How're you feeling?"

Sam swallowed again. "Not too good, Sir," he answered truthfully. Gosh, he would give anything to not get sick in front of his father, but his chances weren't looking good. He'd broken out in a cold sweat and his mouth was filling with saliva.

Which was probably what had woken him in the first place.

"Do you feel like you're going to be sick?" John asked calmly, reaching for the basin as if he already knew the answer. "Your lips are white."

Sam hummed a response and closed his eyes, willing the sick feeling to go away. He felt the bed dip slightly as John joined him awkwardly on the bed. One leg was nestled beside Sam's body, the other was hanging off the bed, his foot flat on the floor.

John set the bin in Sam's lap and wrapped his arm around his shoulders.

Sam threw up shortly after, and thankfully it was over quickly. But it still left him panting and miserable, and he wondered if he'd ever be able to eat properly again. Considering he couldn't even hold down juice, he had his doubts.

"Better now?" John murmured into his ear when things had calmed down again. He gave Sam a gentle squeeze.

Sam nodded and turned his head into John's chest. He smelled of smoke and sulfur, but he also smelled like  _John_. And he felt warm, and secure, and  _safe_.

Sam started to cry. He wasn't sure why, but he was suddenly hit with an onslaught of emotions. He was feeling relief, and sadness, and fear, and happiness all at once, and he was too sick to try and figure himself out. But he was horrified, because you just don't cry in front of John Winchester. Not if you can help it.

But for once, John wasn't telling him to man up. If anything, he held Sam tighter. "Shh, kid, it's okay. You're all right."

Sam sniffed and nuzzled his face deeper into the crevice of John's arm. "I'm glad you're here, Dad."

Then he felt warm lips pressed into his temple. "Me too, Sam." John ran his hands through Sam's hair and then pulled away to take a good look at his son. He thumbed away the tears on Sam's cheeks and smiled sadly. "I'm sorry this isn't the Christmas you had in mind, kiddo. You've had rough week, haven't you?"

Sam huffed a laugh, and used his sleeve to wipe the remaining wetness off his cheeks. "I think if we were to compare rough weeks, you'd give me a run for my money, Dad. I'd say fighting an outrageous amount of demons trumps lying around in a hospital bed."  _Not to mention burying your cousin and best friend._

John chuckled and ruffled Sam's hair affectionately. "I'd call it about even."


	24. Chapter 24

"Would you stop staring at me?" Michelle asked. "Eat your food."

Dean felt his cheeks blush. "I'm sorry," he said quickly, looking down at his tray. "I just… I can't believe you're in front of me right now. I-I thought…" he trailed off, his voice thick with emotion.

"Hey," Michelle said quietly, reaching out to put her hand on his. "I'm okay."

She smiled at him, wide and toothy, and Dean couldn't help but smile back.

"You're coming off way too well-adjusted about this whole thing, you know," he said.

Michelle shrugged. "Yeah, well, I just don't see what good freaking out would do." She took a big bite of her chicken sandwich. "I'm still processing the 'Big Bads 101' course your dad gave me on the drive back."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

'What? That's what he called it!" Michelle insisted.

Dean chuckled. "Oh, no, I don't doubt that," he said fondly. "So that's it, huh? You're cool with this? Knowing what's out there? Knowing my crazy-ass family  _hunts_   _down_ those things?"

Michelle thought a minute. "Yup," she said simply. She took a big sip of her diet coke and swallowed. "You know, I used to think you were interesting  _before_  all this happened—"

"You mean before you were possessed by a demon?" Dean interrupted with a snort.

"Yeah, that."

Dean sighed, eyeing the bruises and scars that colored Michelle's cheeks. "All right, continue." He folded his arms across his chest.

"But  _now_ , now that I know your story – your  _true_  story – I think that you might be the most noble person I've ever met, Dean Winchester."

Dean snorted again. "Noble? Who even talks like that?"

" _I_ do," Michelle said firmly, "And I mean it, Dean. I do."

Dean shook his head, not willing to accept any praise that he didn't think he deserved. "Just because I was born into this life, it doesn't mean that I'm noble, Mich."

"I'm not saying it does. But the way you look out for your family – for Sam –  _that_  does. The way you manage to smile and make people laugh, even after you've been exposed to so much  _responsibility_ and so much  _evil_ …  _that's_ noble."

When Dean didn't have an immediate retort to that, Michelle nudged his tray, giving him a big smirk.

"Eat your food, Dean."

xxx

"So tell me about it," Dean said.

He was full from the grilled chicken and potatoes he'd finished eating, under Michelle's watchful eye. She claimed he was skin and bones, and considering he hadn't had an appetite in four days, he didn't doubt her.

They were outside now, walking the perimeter of the hospital. The sidewalk surrounding the building hadn't been shoveled yet, and they were leaving footsteps in the freshly fallen snow.

"Being possessed?" Michelle questioned.

"No, being crowned homecoming queen," Dean said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Yes, being possessed."

Michelle stopped walking, and when she spoke her voice was quiet. "I don't remember much of it. I was only awake for bits and pieces. But the parts I  _do_ remember…" – her voice cracked – "they were awful, Dean."

Dean swallowed down the lump in his throat. He suddenly regretted eating because he felt like he could lose it any minute. The raw honesty he heard in Michelle's voice caused his stomach to churn.

Before he knew what he was doing, he'd pulled Michelle in for a hug, nestling his face into her wavy blonde hair.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that."

Michelle pulled away. "Stop apologizing, Dean. It's not your fault."

Dean opened his mouth to protest when she spoke again.

"Besides… I'm not."

Dean frowned. "You're not what?"

"I'm not sorry I went through it." Michelle took a steadying breath and let it out slowly. "These past few days, I saw evil.  _True_ evil, unlike any evil I've ever seen before. And that was incredibly frightening and scary… and just… really hard to wrap my mind around."

"Right," Dean agreed carefully, not understanding where she was going with this.

" _But_ ," she continued. "I also saw  _good_  unlike I've ever seen before. I saw your father, and other brave hunters, put their life on the line to save people – to save me. And you know what? I saw good  _win._ "

And then she did something that surprised Dean: she flopped down into the snow, landing on her back. Then she started spreading her arms and legs in a back-and-forth motion. "Do you realize how badass your father is?" she asked, gazing up at him.

"Yeah, I have a general idea," Dean said. He'd only worshipped the man since he was four years old.

Michelle held her arms out, and Dean pulled her back up, chuckling. He brushed the snow off her back, and then took her hands in his. "So you're really okay?" he asked, studying her face carefully.

Michelle nodded firmly. "I will be," she said. "If nothing else, this little adventure gave me hope."

" _Hope_?"

Michelle looked down at the angel she'd made in the snow. "Yeah," she said quietly. "Hope."

And as Dean followed her gaze and stared down at that angel, he understood.

That's when he grabbed her and kissed her to his heart's content.

xxx

"Intestinal ischemia?" Michelle repeated.

They were in the gift shop now. Michelle had insisted they stop there so she could pick something up for Sam. Dean was filling her in about his condition.

"Yeah," Dean confirmed. "They said his intestine was twisted and part of it died due to lack of oxygen."

"How does that even happen?" Michelle wondered as she gazed over a rack that was displaying some VHS tapes available for patients to rent.

Dean shrugged. "Hard to say. They said it's usually brought on by adhesions and tumors, but Sam didn't have any of that. They said more rarely, stress and poor diet can both be factors." Dean hung his head and let out a deep breath, as he was reminded that he was the one responsible for both Sam's caloric intake  _and_  distracting him from the Hunter life.

Michelle stopped her browsing to face him.

"That's not your fault either, Dean."

"I didn't say it was."

"You didn't have to." She squeezed his shoulder affectionately. And then, out of the blue, she asked: "Have you ever seen  _Christmas Vacation_?"

"No?" Dean hadn't even heard of it.

Michelle's face lit up and she promptly grabbed a VHS tape off the rack. "Perfect!" she said happily, thrusting the tape into Dean's hands. "This'll do!"

They checked the tape out at the register and then made their way back up to Sam's room.


	25. Chapter 25

Sam was relieved when Dean and Michelle appeared in the doorway. One-on-one time with John normally consisted of them sitting in awkward silence, and this time was no different. Bobby was there too, but he was focused on the 6:00 news.

"Get something to eat?" John asked his eldest from the armchair.

"Yessir," Dean answered. He held up a VHS tape. "And Michelle claims it's a sin that we've never seen  _Christmas Vacation_ , so we rented it from the gift shop."

"I hear it's a classic," John commented. He stood to take the tape from Dean and went to set it up on the TV. "You mind, Singer?" he asked as he shut off the news.

"I guess not," Bobby griped.

That's when Dean focused all of his attention on Sam, and joined him on the bed. "How're you feeling, man?" he asked, scooting Sam over a bit so he would fit. "You still cramping?"

"Not anymore," Sam answered, shyly returning Michelle's wave as she took John's seat in the armchair.

"He threw up again while you were gone," Bobby told Dean.

"Aw, Sammy."

"It's okay, Dean. I feel better now."

Dean sighed. "You're going to have to hold something down soon, kid. You're losing strength."  _You're scaring me._

Sam bit down on his lower lip, because he knew that. He was scared too.

"Do you want to try some more juice?" John asked, as he pressed the button on the VCR to begin the movie. "Maybe it was just a fluke."

"Not right now," Sam answered. He couldn't bear the thought of throwing up in front of their guest, so he figured he shouldn't take any chances. "Let's just watch the movie."

"What time are Michelle's parents supposed to get here?" Dean asked John.

John settled into the folding chair next to Bobby. "They should get here around 8:00, depending on weather," he answered. "Visiting hours end at 9:00, so I hope it's before then."

"I'll take you lot back to my place for the night," Bobby told Michelle. "Only family is supposed to stay overnight."

"Haven't you been staying overnight?" Michelle questioned.

Bobby nodded. "Only because Dean's still a minor and I was left in charge of the boys in John's absence."

A question occurred to Sam. "Are you guys going to… you know… tell her parents the truth?"

John and Michelle exchanged a look. "We think it's the only way her disappearance will make sense," John said.

Michelle nodded. "We'll just really have to ease them into it." She shrugged. "Worst case scenario, they'll think you're all crazy."

"They'll probably think that regardless of the 'real evil is out there' talk," Dean said with a chuckle.

"Good point."

xxx

Sam had to hand to Michelle for her taste in movies, because  _Christmas Vacation_ had them all crying with laughter.

Sam's favorite part was probably when the Griswold's were all seated at dinner and they were trying to get the old aunt to say grace.

" _Grace? She passed away 30 years ago!"_

One thing was for certain: that Griswold family sure had some bad luck.

The Winchesters could relate.

Towards the end of the movie, a church group came to sing Christmas carols to the patients. Sam thought it was such a nice gesture for them to come and bring cheer to the sick on Christmas Eve. They even brought along candy canes and hot chocolate for everyone.

It smelled so good – Sam wished he could've had some.

His nurse, God bless her, offered to bring Sam some warm apple juice, so he could partake in the drinking. He agreed, hoping he would be able to stomach it.

The heated juice tasted just like cider, and went down easily. It made Sam feel warm and he snuggled closer to Dean.

The carolers finished with  _Silent Night_. They turned off all the lights and lit some candles. At the end of each stanza, they raised their candle. It was really beautifully done. Sam got chills.

When the song came to a close, a young boy – he couldn't have been more than six – handed Sam a candle in a jar and a box of matches.

"Merry Christmas!" he said brightly.

"Thanks. Merry Christmas to you," Sam returned with a smile.

John thanked the carolers and they left.

Dean flicked the tag on the side of the candle. "What's it say?" he asked.

Sam read the fancy cursive handwriting. "'A merry heart does good like medicine.'"

Dean snorted a little. "That's pretty cheesy."

"It's a proverb, Dean," Sam said softly. "From the Bible."

"Oh."

Sam smiled. He recognized that one. He liked to read for pleasure and sometimes he simply didn't have a book to do so. But there was one book he could almost always count on to be in possession, and that was the Bible.

Sam didn't own a Bible, but most motels had the book tucked away in the nightstand. Now, Sam wasn't overly religious – still wasn't sure if he truly believed in God – but he found the Bible to be very intriguing. It gave him hope, at least.

In fact, Proverbs was his favorite book. It was like the tiny book of advice – and good advice at that. Sam's favorite Proverb was probably 11:27.  _"Whoever seeks good finds favor, but evil comes to one who searches for it."_

He just found it amazing that people who lived so long ago could speak truth and wisdom about ideas that apply to modern life.

He handed the candle over to Dean and he set it on table beside them.

xxx

It was oddly calm once the carolers had moved on to the next room.

It was the kind of calm that Sam always felt on Christmas Eve. Like the world was still for a change. Peaceful.

He was glad that being holed up in a hospital bed hadn't changed that.

They sat, talking and drinking their hot chocolate and "cider." Michelle seemed at ease and Sam was beginning to see what Dean saw in her.

He wondered if Dean's heart was breaking knowing they'd have to part soon.

As he pondered this, an odd sensation formed in his stomach, and before Sam knew it, a little air had escaped out of his south end.

This is what they'd been waiting for - an indication that his bowels were functioning properly.

Dean nudged him, having felt the vibration. "Did you just do what I think you did?" he whispered with a smile.

Sam's felt his cheeks burn red and he nodded. He hid his face behind a pillow because he knew what was coming.

"Hey, everybody… it's a Christmas miracle!" Dean announced. "Sam just cut the cheese!"


	26. Chapter 26

"Oh, Michelle, my darling, you had us so worried!"

Mr. and Mrs. Starr had Michelle enveloped in a hug the moment they saw her.

As the family held the embrace, John squeezed Dean's shoulder. They had gone downstairs to wait in the lobby for the Starrs' arrival. They got in around 8:30.

When they pulled away from the hug, it was obvious that Mrs. Starr was crying. Her eyes were puffy and red. It was going to make it that much harder to explain what happened to her daughter.

John and Dean reached out to shake the Starrs' hands. "Thank you for meeting us here," John said graciously. "I would have driven her back to Madison myself, but you see, my youngest has fallen very ill."

"We understand," Mr. Starr assured him. "We're just glad we have our baby back." He planted a kiss on the top of Michelle's head.

"Mom, Dad, if it's okay, we're going to go up to Sam's room so we can all have a seat and talk. I promise we'll tell you everything."

Mrs. Starr looked a little hesitant, but Mr. Starr agreed immediately. "Yes, of course. I'm sure you don't want to be away from your son when he's ill."

Mrs. Starr sighed. "I just don't understand what happened." She looked at Dean accusingly. "How did your  _father_  wind up in Lawrence with our daughter? I'm having a hard time buying that it was a coincidence."

"Mom," Michelle said softly, resting her hand on her mother's shoulder. "John did not abduct me if that's what you're suggesting. Everything will make sense once you hear the whole story. I promise, okay?"

 _That, or she'll just think we're all off our rockers_ , Dean thought.

Mrs. Starr looked skeptical, but she agreed. "Okay," she said. "But it's going to take a hell of an explanation for me to remotely trust you, you raggedy—"

"Mom!" Michelle admonished before her mom could finish the insult. "If you're about to comment on their appearance, you might want to remember that you live out of a _mobile_  home."

"Carol, relax," Mr. Starr chimed in gently, and Dean figured he'd had a lot of practice calming his wife down. "Michelle clearly trusts these men. You've always valued her judgment before."

Mrs. Starr folded her arms across her chest, but softened her glare at John. "Like I said… a  _hell_  of an explanation."

"Duly noted," John returned with a chuckle. "Follow me."

xxx

It was hard to read the Starrs' expressions as John explained what he had been doing in Lawrence. They just kind of sat there, still and blank.

"We're from Lawrence originally," John said, "But we move around a lot because of my work." He side-stepped explicitly saying what his job was. "I got a call Friday night, letting me know my cousin, Lou, had been killed. My boys and I drove to Sioux Falls the next morning so they could stay with Mr. Singer here" – he patted Bobby on the back – "and I headed down to help with arrangements in Lawrence."

"Tell them what your job is, John," Michelle said confidently. "It'll help them understand my side of the story."

John hesitated, so Michelle added something else. "And Mom, Dad, I want you to keep an open mind, okay? These people are not crazy."

Bobby snorted good-naturedly, pretty sure that declaration wouldn't convince them.

"Okay," Mrs. Starr said slowly. "What's your job?"

John cleared his throat. "It's kind of hard to explain…"

"No it's not." Dean was surprised when Sam spoke up beside him. "My dad's a hero. We go from town to town and look for anything suspicious in newspapers. Like unexplained deaths or omens."

Mr. and Mrs. Starr exchanged a funny look. "Omens?" they repeated.

"Yeah," Dean chimed in. "Look, Mr. and Mrs. Starr, what you need to know is that there are evil things out there. Things you couldn't even dream up."

Michelle nodded. "Like vampires, and ghosts, and werewolves…" she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "And that's what John and his family do… they kill those things, save people from them. That's their job – a sucky one too. Because they don't get paid and they rarely get thanked."

Silence permeated around the room while the Starrs processed what was being said to them.

"So…" Mr. Starr said slowly, finally breaking the tension. "You're Hunters?"

Dean wasn't sure what he was expecting, but that wasn't it.

"Yeah, that's exactly what we are," John confirmed, just as slowly. "You know about our type?"

Mr. Starr nodded. "Yeah, we had a poltergeist in the house we lived in before Michelle was born. A friend of a friend hooked us up with a Hunter who us out."

"What?" Michelle exclaimed. "How come you never told me that?"

"Because, sweetheart, we didn't want you to be afraid. Ignorance is bliss and all that. We wanted you to live a normal, happy life."

Michelle chuckled. "You call traveling across the country in a mobile home  _normal_?"

Mr. Starr shrugged. "As normal as you're going to get with a pair of eccentric parents."

"The Hunter who helped you…" Bobby said, his tone curious. "What was his name?"

"Bill Harvelle," Mrs. Starr answered. "Couldn't have been more than 25 years old at the time. Why, do you know him?"

Bobby opened his mouth to answer in what looked like the affirmative, but John cut him off. "No," he said quickly. "No, we've never heard of him."

John and Bobby exchanged a dark look, but nothing more was said on the matter.

Once the Starrs expressed their knowledge of the supernatural, the rest of the discussion went by fairly smoothly. That is, until the end.

After all the details had been hashed out, Mrs. Starr looked less than pleased. "So the reason that my daughter became possessed, the reason she went through that _torture_ , was because she knew  _you_?"

And Dean was suddenly on the receiving end of this woman's merciless glare.

Dean swallowed hard. "Yeah, I guess so," he said, hanging his head shamefully, because what Mrs. Starr was saying was technically true.

Mrs. Starr stood up. "Well then I've heard everything I've needed to hear. I appreciate you bringing her back safely, but I would like it very much if we could never see or hear from you all again."

Dean looked at John helplessly and he shrugged.

"Carol!" Mr. Starr scolded her for being rude.

"Don't you 'Carol' me!" she said, pointing a finger back at him. "My daughter was put at risk because of this family, and I won't stand for it. Stand up, now. We're leaving. I do not wish to spend Christmas Eve with these people."

She stormed out of the room without looking back.

Mr. Starr stood up. "You'll have to excuse my wife. She's had a rough few days."

"She's been through a lot. We understand," John assured him softly. "Our lifestyle isn't always one people can get on board with."

"Well, the important thing is that Michelle is safe," Mr. Starr said, reaching out to shake John's hand. "Thank you… for all that you do. And thank you for returning our daughter to us."

"You have a tough young lady on your hands," was all John said in reply. He winked at Michelle and she grinned back sheepishly.

Mr. Starr went around the room, shaking the hands of Bobby, Dean, and even Sam. "I hope you feel better, son," he said.

"Thank you, sir," Sam said shyly.

"And I hope you all have a Merry Christmas." Mr. Starr wrapped his arm around Michelle's shoulder. "You ready, kid?" he asked.

Michelle looked at Dean. "Actually Dad… do you think you could buy me five minutes? J-Just so I can say goodbye?"

He squeezed her tightly. "Yeah, I think I can manage that."

xxx

Saying goodbye to Michelle Starr was one of the hardest things Dean ever had to do in his life. But if he was being honest, her mother saying that they couldn't see each other actually made it a little easier.

It gave him closure.

They stood in the hallway, holding hands and staring at each other, not really knowing what to say. Michelle had tears slipping down her face and Dean was sure he did too.

They spoke at the same time. "I'm sorry."

Then they laughed lightly, muttering "jinx" under their breath, and suddenly they were caught in an embrace. And Dean never wanted to let go.

Michelle pulled away first, a tearful smile on her face. "I'm glad I met you, Dean Winchester." She ran her hand through his hair, then laced her fingers between his. She stood on her toes to give him one last kiss on the cheek. "I'll never forget you," she whispered in his ear. Then she squeezed his hands softly and walked away.

And Dean couldn't bear to watch her go.


	27. Chapter 27

 

 

 

"This is what I warned him about," John said softly, waiting for Dean to return from the hallway. "Sam, I want you to remember this, son. I want you to learn from your brother's mistake."

Bobby spoke what Sam was thinking. "He didn't make a mistake, John."

John didn't agree. "He's out there getting his heart broken right now. If he would just keep his distance—"

"He would be the unhappiest damn kid on the planet," Bobby finished for him. "Michelle was good for him. Gave him a dose of 'normal.' Did you know that boy bought her tickets to a dance?"

"He _what_?" Sam asked in disbelief.

Bobby held up three fingers. "I swear. Saw 'em with my own two eyes."

John sighed. "School dances aren't all they're cracked up to be."

Bobby chuckled. "I agree. But don't you think it's Dean's right to find that out for himself? He's a kid, John. He needs to have some freedom with how he leads his life. Don't you think he deserves that much?"

"Of course I think that," John said softly. "I just don't want him to get hurt."

Sam snorted softly to himself, amazed that John couldn't see the irony in his statement. Being a Hunter's kid wasn't exactly safe. But Sam wasn't about to call him on it. Not tonight. Not on Christmas Eve.

The subject was dropped.

"How are you feeling, Sam?" John asked.

"I'm okay, Dad," he answered, and he was almost being truthful. He still didn't feel one hundred percent. Hell, he barely felt 50 percent. But he was feeling better than he had, and that was a step in the right direction.

"Want me to get you some more juice?" Bobby asked.

Sam nodded. "Sure." He flashed a smile at the older hunter. "Thanks, Bobby."

Bobby squeezed his knee and exited the room just as Dean came back in.

Dean had tear tracks on his cheeks and his posture was deflated, but he still managed to have a smile on his face. A genuine, _real_ smile. Sam couldn't believe his strength.

"You okay, Dean?"

Sam had to ask. He had to acknowledge the pain Dean must be feeling, even though he knew what his brother's response would be.

And sure enough, in a voice that didn't waver: "I'm okay." Dean cleared his throat gruffly. "Is Bobby coming back? Anybody down for a game of _Euchre_?"

He was quick to get the attention off of himself.

"I'm here until they kick me out, kid," Bobby answered Dean's inquiry as he reappeared in the doorway with Sam's juice.

"I could go for some _Euchre_ ," John said, in a voice that hinted over-excitement. "What about you Sam?"

John's enthusiasm for something so trivial caught him off-guard.

"Uh, yeah," Sam said quickly. "Yeah. That'd be good."

"Great!" Dean said happily, and pulled Sam's table-tray closer to the bed and in front of the armchair. John scooted his chair closer to the table and Bobby pulled his chair around to the other side.

Sam looked his dad over closely. He looked so _tired_ , and just… downhearted. But there he sat, seemingly eager to spend time with his family.

Bobby spoke what Sam was thinking. "Are you sure you're up for this Winchester?" he asked gruffly. "You've had a rough few days…"

John chuckled. "Oh, come on, Singer. It's a card game, not an iron man." He reached an arm out to pat Dean on the back and he winked at Sam. "I'm here with my boys on Christmas Eve. There's no place I'd rather be." He clapped his hands together and said: "So what are teams? Kids versus adults?"

"Works for me," Dean said, since he was already sitting across from Sam.

He dealt the cards and they began to play.

Well into the night.

xxx

It was a little after midnight when Bobby decided to call it quits and head home.

"You three need to get some rest," he reasoned as he stood up.

"You'll come back tomorrow, won't you Bobby?" Sam asked hopefully.

Bobby ruffled his hair. "Of course, Sam."

"Wait, Singer, before you go…" John reached into his back pocket to pull out his wallet. "I have a gift I'd like to give you all. I don't think I can wait until tomorrow."

"Well, technically, it _is_ Christmas," Dean pointed out, mindful of the time.

"Good point, son." John cleared his throat gruffly. "Before we left Lawrence, Lou's wife, Janine… you remember her, right?"

Dean and Sam nodded vaguely.

"Well, she pulled me aside… and she asked me to take these off her hands." John opened his wallet and passed around a couple of tickets to each individual.

Sam's eyes nearly popped out of his sockets when he saw what he was looking at.

They were tickets to the regional finals for the Division I College Basketball Tournament. A game the Kansas Jayhawks were projected to play in.

Sam almost started crying. It was his dream to see that team play in person. "Dad…" he breathed, unsure of what to say.

"This is…" Dean started but trailed off, looking at his dad carefully. "Are you sure about this?" he asked seriously, knowing full well how much Lou loved the Jayhawks. He and Sam both knew it would be hard on their father to see a game that would remind him so much of his late cousin.

"Lou would roll over in his grave if these aren't put to use," John insisted firmly, in a way that meant he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"But… didn't you salt and burn him?" Dean asked slowly, a playful smirk on his lips.

"Oh, you know what I mean." John flicked a playing card at his son and Dean laughed.

"What do you say, Sam?" John asked with raised eyebrows, knowing his youngest would appreciate the tickets the most.

"I am so there," he said.

"Me too," Dean agreed.

They all looked at Bobby. "Me three," he said with a chuckle, elated to be included in their rare family outing.

John nodded, happiness radiating off of him despite all that he'd been through. "Then it's a date."

xxx

"Are you really okay, Dean?" Sam asked quietly. He had to make sure.

"Yeah, Sam. I really am."

John was using the facilities before they fell asleep for the night, so it was just the two of them in the room.

"Okay. It's just… it's okay if you're not," Sam told him. "And remember what I said? You don't have to pretend everything's okay anymore. Not with me."

"I'm not pretending," Dean insisted with so much sincerity that Sam almost believed him. "Look, saying goodbye to Michelle was hard," he said softly. "I admit that." He leaned forward to whisper in his brother's ear. "But the truth, Sam, is that I have everything I need right here."

Sam giggled in spite of himself.

"What?" Dean asked, amused.

"Nothing," Sam said innocently. "That was just quite a line for someone so opposed to chick-flick moments."

"Oh, shut up," Dean growled, and playfully punched Sam in the shoulder. "Get some sleep, runt."

Sam smiled contentedly to himself and pulled the covers up over his head. "Merry Christmas, jerk."

"Right back at you, bitch."


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone. I had previously marked this story as complete, but after re-reading it recently, I realized that I wasn't entirely happy with the ending... so I decided to add 3 more chapters! Here's the first. Thanks for reading.

Sam fell asleep almost instantly that night.

Dean and John did not.

The hospital staff had been kind enough to swap the armchair cot out for a loveseat one, so both Dean and John could fit on the mattress. But John was sitting up – reading a newspaper from three days ago. He wasn't even trying to fall asleep.

Dean was trying. He was exhausted – every single bone in his body was calling out for rest. But his mind wasn't letting it happen.

He tried to tell himself that Sam was on the upswing, because that was the most important thing. Knowing that, he should have been able to get some rest.

But there were still two people he couldn't stop thinking about. And one was sitting right beside him.

The man was tense. Quiet. Putting on a brave front because he knew it was what Sam needed. Because he thought it was what Dean wanted.

Dean knew better.

John had just returned from a high-stakes hunt – probably the most crucial hunt he'd ever been on, and he was hurting.

Bad.

Dean sighed audibly and sat up.

John raised an eyebrow at his son. "Can't sleep?" he asked softly.

Dean shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. "Think I need to take a walk," he said, glancing at Sam's still form on the bed.

"Want some company?" John asked, setting his newspaper aside.

Dean hesitated, not keen on leaving Sam alone.

"He'll be okay," John said knowingly. "C'mon. I think it would do us both some good to talk out what's on our minds."

Dean could almost hear a sense of desperation in his father's voice and that was enough to get him to agree.

They slipped out of the room, being careful not to wake Sam.

xxx

"So what's on your mind, son?"

They were sitting at a small table in the lobby, each with a cup of decaf coffee in their hand.

"Michelle," Dean answered with a shrug, because that was a given. "And you."

"Me?" John asked.

Dean nodded. "I just…" He wasn't sure how to put what he wanted to say into words. He tried again: "What was it like, Dad? Being back in Lawrence? I mean, how did you face that? How did you face Lou's family? How did you face _twenty-seven_  frickin' demons?"

John set his coffee on the table and ran his hands through his hair, clearly unsure how to respond to that.

"I guess what I mean is…" Dean tried again. "Are you okay?"

John swallowed hard, reflecting. He snorted softly and his eyes were glassy when he said, "I can tell you one thing—" he motioned to his cup of Joe "—I'd give anything to trade this in for a beer right now."

Dean nodded. Typical John Winchester response. "How many casualties?" he asked, but he meant: _How many deaths are you going to blame yourself for?_

"Three," John answered dully. "All victims."

Dean grimaced. "Who were they?"

John rubbed at his eyes tiredly. "I can actually answer that – even if I didn't recognize the victims personally. The demons would tell me who they were, just to hear themselves talk. _I'm your precious Sammy's favorite teacher. I'm little Deano's first kiss…_ "

Dean's face paled – he remembered his first kiss. "Julie?" he whispered. "She…?"

John nodded. "I'm sorry, son. The demon that was possessing her had a knife and stabbed her in the stomach before we could get the exorcism out. She didn't make it."

Dean closed his eyes. "Who else?"

"A classmate of Sam's. Kid looked so young." John pinched the bridge of his nose and sniffed. "And then there was a waitress I slept with a few years back."

Dean licked his lips. "And you said we knew every single one of the victims?" he asked.

"In one way or another."

Dean was curious to know who they were, but he could tell by John's face that he wasn't up for recalling who'd been affected by the hunt – whose lives had been at stake because of him.

"Before today, how many other times had you faced demons?" Dean asked.

John answered, "Only twice. Both times they were solo. Didn't know they were capable of working as a team – But I guess if it fits their agenda…"

"And you think their agenda was trying to hurt you? To hurt us?"

John sighed. "That sure is what it felt like."

"Do you think… was all this related to what killed Mom…? Do you think it was a demon? Or are they just fucking with us?"

"I don't know, Dean. I don't know if all of this ties into that. I just don't know." John's voice was distressed as he reached out to squeeze his Styrofoam coffee cup in frustration. Hot liquid overflowed onto his hand, but the man didn't even react to it.

Dean swallowed hard. "Look, Dad, I didn't mean for this to turn into an interrogation." He offered John one of the napkins he'd grabbed as an apology.

"No, I know you didn't," John said as he took the napkin from his son and wiped up the mess he'd made. "I'm just frustrated that I didn't get more answers. I was so caught up in grief that I wasn't thinkin' straight. And I was so damn worried about your brother. About Sammy. I mean it, Dean. The only thing on my mind was getting back to you boys."

"I know that, Dad. And you did. You made it back, and we're okay." But then Dean thought about the heartbreak Michelle had left him with and the long road to recovery ahead of Sam. "Or at least… we will be," he amended.

John gave him a watery smile, and it made Dean's heart sink into his toes when he said, "I just don't know where to go from here."

It was in that moment that Dean felt more like an equal to his dad than he ever had before. John was letting himself be vulnerable – where alcohol wasn't involved, and that was something unheard of. It scared Dean, but more than that it showed him that his father was doing the best he could. That he was _always_ doing the best he could.

_I just don't know where to go from here._

Over the lump in his throat, Dean responded with a whisper:

"Then don't go anywhere until you do."


	29. Chapter 29

Sam drifted off as he leaned his cheek against Dean's shoulder. The Impala sped over the asphalt on the way back to Bobby's.

It was 8:00pm, December 29th, and Sam was going home.

"Hey, Dean," John's voice carried softly into the back seat. "Your brother awake?"

 _Barely_ , Sam thought. His eyes were heavy. He was so _tired_ of being tired.

"No, I think he's out. He's droolin' on me," Dean answered.

_Oops._

"Well, let him sleep, but make sure he's awake when we pull into the salvage yard."

"How come?"

"You'll see."

xxx

"Sam?" Dean nudged him awake.

"Hmm?" He didn't want to open his eyes. The car was warm, and Dean's shoulder was Sam's favorite pillow. If Dean was trying to get him to wake up, that meant Sam was going to have to move soon. Gosh, he wished he remembered what it was like to have energy.

"We're almost to Bobby's. Dad says you have to be awake. If you have a problem with that, you can take it up with him."

"Tired," Sam protested. Sleep felt so good.

"I know you are, man. But just think – you actually get to sleep in a real bed tonight. You don't have to put up with the beeping from your monitor. And more importantly, _I_ get to sleep in a real bed tonight. And _I_ don't have to put up with the beeping from your monitor."

Sam smiled into Dean's shoulder. Dean had stayed with Sam every single night he was in the hospital, which meant a real bed sounded just as good – if not better – to him than it did to Sam.

Because if Sam was being honest, the hospital bed had actually been pretty comfortable. Dean was the one who had to put up with that horrible pull-out cot. It was the strong smell of antiseptics and the poking and prodding of medical professionals that Sam was relieved to get away from.

"Are you boys looking out the window?" John asked, a hint of excitement in his voice. "Get ready."

Sam yawned and pulled away from his brother. Apparently there was something he needed to see.

As they turned onto Bobby's property, it was immediately evident what John had been preparing them for.

Lights.

Bobby had strung hundreds upon thousands of Christmas lights all over his property. Old cars, the chain link fence, and even his house were lit up in an array of colors and bright luminaries.

John was smiling as he glanced in the rearview mirror to take in Dean and Sam's reactions.

They were stunned.

"Holy shit…" Dean breathed. "When did… when did he do all of this?"

"This week," John answered. "Said he's spent every Christmas alone since Karen and hadn't felt the need to put 'em up again until this year. Can you believe that the two of them used to dress up as Santa and Mrs. Claus and hand out candy canes to their neighbors?" John chuckled and met Sam's eyes in the rearview mirror. "He said he wanted to do something nice for you, Sammy. Thought you would appreciate them."

"I can't believe he did all this," Sam whispered, emotion catching in his throat, while his heart swelled with gratitude for Bobby. "I mean, it's not even Christmas anymore."

"Yeah, but Sam, you were holed up in that bed. You didn't get to experience it," John offered. "Not really. None of us did."

What Sam wanted to say was that they had at least been together, and that's all that mattered. But what came out instead was: "So? We never get to experience Christmas." And he regretted it immediately when John flinched.

Dean elbowed him in the arm, his own unique way of telling his brother he was out of line.

And Sam knew he was.

It was a low blow, especially because he knew John wanted to come through for them this year. It wasn't his father's fault that everything had been screwed to hell.

"Dad, I-I didn't mean that..." he tried to amend.

Thankfully, John brushed off the comment. "Don't worry about it, Sam." Then he winked at him to indicate that he wasn't upset with the off-hand comment. "Bobby just figured better late than never."

"Amen to that," Dean spoke up. "Just enjoy the lights, huh Sammy? You deserve this."

He pulled Sam closer to him, and Sam nestled back against his shoulder while they looked out the window at the lights together.

John drove them around the entire property so they could see everything. There was still a station playing Christmas music, and John let it float through the Impala.

Sam was so impressed. The trunks of the tress had lights wrapped around them evenly and precisely. The gutters on Bobby's house were lined with icicle lights and colored lights accented his windows. It honest-to-goodness appeared professionally done. His property looked like it was straight out of one of those commercials for local zoos putting on light shows.

"This must've taken him forever," Sam breathed, surprised that tears had started to prick his eyes. "It's amazing."

"It's so awesome," Dean agreed.

"I wish he could see your faces right now," John laughed. "C'mon, let's go inside, and you can give that cranky old man a hug."

He parked the Impala, and they headed inside to do just that.

**Fin.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue to follow! Thanks for reading!


	30. Epilogue

**Ten years later…**

Dean took the exit ramp just outside of Cleveland, Ohio,

They were en route to Toledo to check out a mysterious death. Dean had happened upon the obituary of Steven Shoemaker in the newspaper. According to the report, his daughter – the one who found the body – had claimed his eyes were gouged out when she found him.

Definitely sounded like something in their wheelhouse.

Sam, who had been staring out the window and brooding quietly in the passenger seat ever since they left Pennsylvania, reached to turn off the radio.

"Why're you stopping?" he asked, his voice hoarse from lack of use.

Dean glanced in his brother's direction, catching the weariness in his voice. He knew Sam was upset that John had changed his voicemail message; that he hadn't reached out to them. Dean was a little miffed about it, too.

"Thought we could stop and grab a burger, maybe a beer," Dean answered. "Stretch our legs."

"'Kay," Sam said softly. He went back to resting his head against the window.

The kid hadn't been sleeping much. Nightmares about Jess had been plaguing him the past couple of nights. Dean didn't think Sam had gotten a full night sleep since she died. And sooner or later, they were going to have to talk about it.

Dean wasn't looking for anything spectacular, so he pulled into a dive bar joint a little ways off the highway.

It was pretty deserted since it was a weeknight, which was just fine. They weren't looking for any action.

They took a seat at the bar and Dean was surprised that Christmas tunes were playing softly in the background. He hadn't realized it was that time of year already.

The bartender was an older woman – nametag read "Susie" – and she welcomed them right away. "What can I get for you boys?" she asked sweetly.

Dean ordered them a couple of beers and a burger for himself. Sam claimed he wasn't hungry, and just ordered a bowl of chicken noodle soup.

"You're not feeling well, are you?" Dean hedged when Susie left to put their food order in. He gently nudged Sam's shoulder with his own.

Sam shrugged and looked down at his beer. "I'm okay."

"Sammy."

Dean could see his brother's Adam's apple pulsating, which was never a good sign. Sure enough, Sam's eyes were starting to overflow with tears. "It's been a month, Dean," he whispered brokenly.

Dean licked his lips. "I know."

"I've been… I've been trying really hard to… to keep my head above water. But Dad clearly doesn't want to be found, and now… now the holidays are coming up, and I just feel like I'm drowning, man."

That admission hurt, practically knocked the wind out of Dean. "We're gonna find Dad, Sammy," he said, because that was the only thing he was sure of. "We will."

"Yeah. I know."

"As for Christmas coming up, ball's in your court. If you want to celebrate it, I'll be Buddy the Elf. If you want to ignore it completely, just call me Scrooge. Whatever will help you get through it, man."

Sam rested his elbows on the counter and ran his hands through his hair. "I don't know what I want to do." He cleared his throat gruffly. "You know, we – uh – we had plans to spend Christmas with her family this year," he said softly. "I was going to ask her dad for his blessing."

_Fuck._

As if this kid couldn't break his heart any more. "Jesus, Sam," Dean croaked. "You… You should've told me that."

"I'm telling you now."

Dean closed his eyes. He suddenly didn't have much of an appetite. In fact, he felt like he could toss his cookies.

He was having a visceral reaction to his brother's anguish, and he couldn't stop it. He felt numb all over. "Sammy…"

"You don't have to say anything, Dean," Sam told him, giving him an out. "I just thought you should know."

So Dean clapped him on the shoulder and said, "Drink your beer."

And Sam didn't hesitate to oblige.

It was the Winchester coping mechanism.

xxx

"Can I get you two anything else?" Susie asked as she set down their burger and soup. "Another beer?"

Dean was about to answer in the affirmative when a young, flustered waitress appeared behind her. "Susie, I'm so sorry I'm late," she babbled, pulling on her apron. "I can take over. Class ran long and then my car wouldn't start…"

"Shelley, sweetheart, it's no trouble," the older waitress assured the tardy server. "It's not like we're a packed house tonight."

Susie leaned in and thumbed over her shoulder at the blonde waitress. "She's a perfectionist. I'm actually proud of her when she runs late." She winked at Dean and Sam. "These boys are all yours."

"Great. Thanks so much, Susie," the young waitress said earnestly. But once Susie had returned to the kitchen, she leaned in and said, "Actually, I'm pretty far from a perfectionist – but it's a pretty good con that I've got my boss believing it, right?"

She wiggled her eyebrows and Dean felt like he could fall right off his stool.

Because this waitress, this _girl_ … he knew her.

Dean felt Sam grab his knee, which meant that he recognized her too.

"Michelle?" Dean asked slowly. "Michelle Starr?"

She pulled back, puzzled. "Yeah. Do I know…?" Realization swept over her face. "I-I don't believe it," she breathed. "Dean? Dean Winchester? _Sam?_ "

And all the Winchesters could do was nod.

"Oh my gosh!" Michelle shrieked. "It is so good to see you two!"

Susie returned behind Michelle, carrying a tray of nachos for a table by the door. "Shelley, do you know these boys?"

Michelle nodded numbly. "Yeah. From a long time ago. Do you mind if…?"

"Go ahead," Susie consented, with her big, toothy smile. "Catch up."

"Ugh, you are the _best!_ " Michelle squealed with delight.

"And I don't get tired of hearing it!" Susie quipped over her shoulder.

Michelle rounded the counter and caught Dean and Sam both in a hug as they stood. She planted a kiss on Dean's cheek.

"You haven't changed a bit," she told him and hugged him again, tight as could be. Then she turned to Sam, taking in his full physique. "And _you_ … must've grown three feet. Really, _really_ great job growing up, kid."

Sam huffed a laugh, and Dean could tell that it was genuine.

Michelle had that effect on people.

xxx

They settled into a booth by the restrooms, away from the customers.

"Oh look," Michelle said. "Tony and Sal are here. I forgot they were performing tonight."

"Who are Tony and Sal?" Sam wondered.

"They sing here every other week or so. Folksy stuff. They'll probably do some Christmas songs tonight."

There were some guitars and microphones placed on the wooden pallets to the left of the bar. Tony and Sal were setting up.

"Did I hear that you were coming from class?" Sam asked Michelle curiously, which was a good thing too, considering Dean hadn't managed to find his voice. He was still in shock that Michelle Starr was sitting in front of him.

Michelle reached across the table to take one of Dean's French fries. "Yeah, I'm studying Law at Cleveland State."

"Seriously?" Sam asked, in awe. "I was pre-Law at Stanford."

"What? No way!" Michelle exclaimed. Her disbelief turned to confusion. "But wait… you guys went to college?" Michelle asked, looking between the two of them. "I thought you were born into being Hunters…"

"We were," Sam said dully. "I went to college. Dean didn't."

"He tried to get out," Dean said, squeezing his brother's knee gently. "Didn't stick."

"Oh. I'm sorry, Sam," Michelle said softly. She must've sensed that it was a sore subject, because she switched gears. "How's your dad?"

And when Dean and Sam exchanged a mournful look, she took notice.

"Oh-for-two, huh?" she asked, grimacing slightly. "What happened? He's not…?"

"He's alive," Dean assured her bitterly. "He's just sort of AWOL right now. Sammy and me… we're looking for him."

"Oh," Michelle whispered, and she met Dean's eyes with sympathetic eyes of her own. Dean could tell she wanted him to elaborate, but he was too busy getting lost in her deep baby blues– the way he used to when they were sixteen years old.

"But enough about us," Sam hedged the conversation along. "Tell us about you."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Law school, huh?"

Michelle snorted a laugh. "Yeah, don't know how I landed on that one. I must've changed my major about twenty times. But I love it. I really do."

"That's great, Mich."

"Yeah. Oh! And I'm engaged!" she held her left hand out for them to see the ring. "His name is Aaron – he's an engineer – and he asked me over Thanksgiving."

"Wow." Dean let out a low whistle while he examined the gigantic rock. "So basically you're crushing it at life – that's what you're trying to tell me."

Michelle giggled, blushing slightly as she drew back her hand. "I don't know about that."

Dean smiled fondly at her. "I'd expect nothing less from you."

"You know, it's so funny that we crossed paths again, after all these years," Michelle said, hinting wonderment. "I was just thinking about you the other day."

"Oh yeah? How come?"

"Well, the Law program at Cleveland State puts on a formal every year. The Barrister's Ball." She glanced at Sam, who had gone exceptionally quiet after she'd announced she was engaged, and the ache in Dean's chest grew deeper. "Did Stanford have one?"

Sam nodded mutely.

"Anyway," Michelle continued, "all my friends got so excited about it because it reminded them of their high school years – made them feel like a kid again. And I got to thinking how I never went to a high school dance. Do you see where I'm going with this…?"

Dean rubbed a hand over his face, mouth quirking up in a smile. Because, yeah. He knew.

"You owe me a dance, Winchester."

"I guess you're right. You're not going to believe this, but…" Dean trailed off and avoided Sam's gaze – because he knew he'd be teased mercilessly for what he was about to disclose – and he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. He pulled out two worn and faded pieces of paper, and dropped them in front of Michelle.

Her mouth fell open once she realized what they were. "You _kept_ these?" she asked, gawking at the tickets Dean had purchased ten years ago for the "Frozen in Time" winter formal at Edgewood High School in Madison, Wisconsin. The formal they didn't get to attend because Michelle was possessed by a fucking demon and Dean was looking after a sick little brother. " _Why?"_

Dean shrugged. "I don't know. I could never bring myself to throw them away. Didn't seem right... and now I think of you every time I have to break a twenty."

Michelle blushed. "Never had you pegged as the sentimental type. Can I keep my ticket?"

"Sure." Dean flicked a straw wrapper at her. "But who's sentimental now?"

Sam snorted softly and stood up. "Still you, man." He clapped Dean on the shoulder. "I'm gonna hit the head."

Michelle broke her eyes away from Dean to follow Sam as he disappeared into the restrooms. "You know," she said, "the only memory I have of Sam is in that hospital room. He looked so small… so sick and fragile. He looks really good now. Strong."

"Yeah, he's healthy as horse," Dean agreed. "Has been ever since." He ran his hands through his hair and let out a deep breath. "But Sammy's going through a rough patch. He told me something before you showed up that just…" He put a hand over the ache in his chest, and shook his head slightly.

Michelle frowned sympathetically. "That explains why you haven't touched your burger," she said, reaching across the table to rest her hand on his. "What'd he tell you?"

So Dean told her. Everything. How he had gone to Stanford to get Sam and convince him to help look for Dad. How Jess had been pinned to the ceiling when they returned, and then burst into flames – killed, the same way Mom was. How Sam hadn't caught a full night's sleep since it happened. How he was going to ask the poor girl to marry him over Christmas break. How Dean didn't know what to say to help him.

"Dean, he just needs some more time," Michelle said wisely, squeezing his hand gently. "And I'm sure you've said all the right things. If nothing else, you've been there for him. You always are."

"Yeah…" Dean said doubtfully, not taking what Michelle was saying with much conviction.

"I mean it, Dean. Look, as an outsider, I can tell how deeply you two care for each other. It's palpable. It's unbreakable. That's what's going to get Sam through." She pulled her hand away to bury her face in her hands. "I feel like a grade-A asshole, though, for flaunting my engagement ring in front of his face."

"You didn't know, Mich."

That was when Sam rejoined them in the booth, a smirk on his face.

"What's with you?" Dean wondered.

Before Sam could answer, Susie's voice came over one of the speakers.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, I'd like to introduce Tony Marino and Sal Davis, here to perform some live Christmas tunes for you all."_

The customers applauded.

" _Thank you, Susie,"_ Tony said, taking the microphone from her. _"We appreciate the warm welcome. We're excited and grateful to be here. We have some festive music in store for you tonight."_ He cleared his throat gruffly. _"It has also been brought to our attention that someone in the audience owes another someone a dance."_

" _And to get started, we'd like to help out with that!"_ Sal chimed in. _"So Dean and Michelle, come on down!"_ She motioned to the open space in front of the stage.

Dean's could feel his face flush from embarrassment, and Sam snickered beside him.

"Oh, I hate you," Dean said, shoving his brother in jest. "You are such a hopeless romantic."

Sam just smiled and stood up to let Dean out of the booth.

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun!" Michelle said, glowing and all dimples.

Dean rolled his eyes, but took her hand. "Shall we?"

"Rockin' Around the Christmas Tree" started to play.

xxx

"I don't want to celebrate Christmas this year," Sam said hesitantly, breaking the silence on the drive from the diner to the motel. They'd left shortly after they had their dance. Michelle needed to get back to work. "Is that okay?"

"Yeah. I told you it was up to you." Dean took his eyes off the road to glance at his brother. "Mind if I ask why? Is it because it would be too hard?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah, that's part of it."

"What's the other part?"

Sam shrugged. "It's too normal."

Dean raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me if I'm wrong, but isn't 'I just want to be normal' like… the Sam Winchester motto?"

Sam huffed. "Yeah, it used to be. But our lives can't be normal until whatever killed Mom and Jess is dead. I see that now. So why bother, you know?"

"Your optimism is encouraging," Dean said sarcastically. "But I get it. Christmas would be a distraction and wasting the damn thing is priority numero uno."

Sam nodded. "Yeah."

"Okay. You got it, Sammy."

Sam seemed satisfied. He let out a yawn and stretched. "So how was it?" he asked casually. "Seeing Michelle again?"

Dean licked his lips. He was hoping they wouldn't have to talk about it. "Sam, you don't have to do that."

"Do what?"

"Talk to me about Michelle. It doesn't seem right. Not when Jess—"

"What?" Sam challenged. "Not when Jess is dead, and Michelle made it out of her run-in with the supernatural alive?"

Dean shifted uncomfortably. "Well, yeah."

"I don't resent Michelle for being alive, Dean. And, come on, I know that probably wasn't easy – having to leave her again."

"She's engaged, Sam."

"That doesn't change the fact that you care about her."

Sam was right. It _had_ been hard to say goodbye again. Dean swallowed thickly and kept his eyes trained on the road. His heart was a little broken, sure, but ultimately: "I'm just glad she's okay," he said softly, and it was the truth.

"Yeah," Sam agreed.

"For what it's worth," Dean added, as he pulled into the parking lot of the motel, "I'd give anything for you to have that peace of mind, too."

"Yeah, I know you would."

xxx

Dean woke with a start during the middle of the night.

He'd been dreaming – having a nightmare, really – about those ten years ago, when Sam had been in the hospital. Seeing Michelle must have brought it all back.

Sam was awake too, in the next bed over, watching TV with the sound turned down low.

"Dude," Sam said, having noticed Dean start awake. "I'm the one who's supposed to be having nightmares."

Dean rubbed his eyes and sat up. "You can only have nightmares if you _sleep_ , Sam," he retorted.

"I tried," Sam insisted. "Couldn't."

Dean was just glad to have Sam's strong and healthy form in the bed beside him.

"What're you watching?" he asked, squinting at the TV. He raised his eyebrows when he realized what it was. "I thought you didn't want anything to do with Christmas."

_National Lampoon's Christmas Vacation_ was playing on the outdated TV set.

"It's the only thing on," Sam defended himself. "I forgot how funny it is. It just started."

"Man it's been forever since I've seen that movie," Dean commented.

Sam nodded. "Ten years. Michelle was the one who introduced us to it, remember?"

Dean swallowed hard. "Yeah, I remember." He rubbed a tired hand over his face. "Turn it up, man. Let's watch it."

It would be wrong not to.

"Yeah?" Sam asked.

"Yeah. But you're sleeping when it's over. I mean it. I will drug your ass if I have to."

Sam snorted softly. "Yeah, okay. Deal."

He turned up the volume just in time for Clark Griswold to walk out of his garage wearing a hockey mask and holding a chainsaw to trim down his Christmas tree. He looked like he walked right out of the movie _Friday the 13_ _th_ _._

Sam and Dean started laughing at just that alone.

They were in for a reminiscent night.

**Fin.**


End file.
